Canines and Canaries
by nataliedormar
Summary: After honour and betrayal result in much going awry at the Red Keep, Eddard Stark's bastard daughter risks danger and destitution and must find a way to survive on her own. So when a queer vicariousness causes Sandor Clegane to offer her his protection, Eruanna Snow knows that refusal would be a foolish move. And in the Game of Thrones, a foolish move is a fatal one.
1. Where Have All The Good Men Gone?

_**Eruanna**_

The early morning was a cool one and crisp snow had began to settle upon the stone windowsill of her bedchamber, the biting air causing small goosebumps to appears on her tawny skin, her chamber filled with white sunlight. Without a glance up from her book, Eruanna Snow pulled the window closed. She tugged gently at the sleeve of her dress. The Royal Family were to arrive at Winterfell today and her father had instructed her to wear her finest dress, so she looked presentable. Though it was old and slightly tight, the dress she wore was rather beautiful. It was a simple gown, grey and periwinkle, with a belt of white pearls, a satin bodice and a light, silken skirt.

Twenty pages later, Eruanna closed her book and ran a hand through her long, black curls. She glanced out of the window to see how much more snow had gathered on her windowsill.  
All of a sudden, her dark eyes widened in alarm at the sight of several grand carriages and white horses coming through the gates to the Winterfell castle. As fast as she could, Eruanna threw open her door and ran down the stone stairs that led to her bedchamber, clutching her skirts tightly. She had asked Robb to tell her when the Baratheons were due to arrive but he had obviously forgotten. She raced past a few handmaidens until she reached the castle doors.

The snow was still falling and her family were standing in a row, watching the several Baratheons and Lannisters dismount the horses and climb out of the carriages. After a quick glance around, she saw Jon standing a little behind the row of Starks. Careful not to draw any attention to herself, Eruanna inconspicuously slipped in beside him. Jon looked at her with a raised brow but thankfully, said nothing. They both turned once again to face the Baratheons.

King Robert Baratheon was smiling warmly as he embraced her father, and her father wore a smile that she had not seen on his kind face in many years. Eruanna had met the King once before, about eight years prior. He was a great, big man with dark hair and a deep laugh. She remembered his large, protruding stomach (though it was larger now than she remembered), and the black beard on his boisterous face. He had come to Winterfell, and when he asked to meet her, he was very kind to her, she recalled.

Behind Eddard Stark and King Robert, stood a tall, blonde woman who could be no other than Queen Cersei. Eruanna only had to look at her to feel intimidated. Her crown of golden locks were arranged in a Southern style, and although very beautiful, she had a steely gaze which was rather unnerving. A blood red gown hugged the Queen's body and the furs on her cuffs were whiter than the snow that was settling on the ground. She stood beside a handsome man; his resemblance to Cersei quite striking, a dwarf man and two children: a boy and girl, who Eruanna presumed were Queen Cersei's children.

The girl was not tall like her mother, but rather shapely instead. Eruanna concluded that the girl looked younger than herself but she had an air of confidence about her; one that Eruanna lacked. Princess Cyrenna Baratheon wore a red gown and had dark blonde hair that fell down her back effortlessly. She had eyes like her fathers and Eruanna watched them scan the line of Starks, catching them lingering on Robb for slightly longer than what was deemed appropriate.

The boy was shorter than his sister, and younger too. He also had blonde hair, but it was lighter than Cyrenna's. There was no attempt from the boy to hide his contemptuous sneer and it was clear on his face that he would rather be elsewhere. _This can only be Prince Joffrey,_ Eruanna thought.

The Baratheon children came forward with their mother to greet the Starks before them. Only then did Eruanna take notice of the giant figure who stood behind the boy, casting a shadow over his surroundings. The hulking man loomed above the people standing beside him. Uneasiness flooded Eruanna's body and her hand came to her throat, tugging lightly at the skin there. Although his face was partially concealed by a massive helm (which took the form of a snarling dog's head), Eruanna felt his cold stare on her, cooler than the snow that was settling on her cheeks, and she forced herself to look at the white ground. She kept her gaze to the snow until it was time to enter the castle again.

* * *

 _ **Sandor**_

The Great Hall of Winterfell was cold, dark and filled with the hustle and bustle of the maids and servants, all set to serving the Baratheon King and his family. The Starks were sitting with the Baratheons and Lannisters, politics and other nonsense being discussed. Sandor Clegane had no interest in sitting at the table with the families and so he took his leave and instead, lumbered over to one of the smaller wooden tables which lined the back wall of the Hall, taking his wineskin out.

However, as he went to drink from it, he felt a pair of eyes on him. He glanced to his left and sitting a few tables away, was a girl who, as soon as he looked at her, instantly looked down at her lap again. Her black curls tumbled forward over her face as she lowered her gaze, and it was almost as if she was too afraid to move in order to fix her hair. She was the same girl he saw outside when they arrived, he realised; she was the one who was late to greeting the Baratheons.

She held a tattered book in her lap, he noticed and a frown overtook his face. She looked too tidy and was too educated to be a handmaiden yet she was not sitting at the main table.

He stood up and approached her table, sitting down beside her without invitation. Her entire frame stiffened and her knuckles turned white as he sat, he saw.

"What's your name, girl?" He asked her, though it came out harsher than intended.  
Her dark eyes widened at being addressed so directly and he noticed the hesitation on her face as she looked up from her book.

"I... Uh, my name is Eruanna. Eruanna Snow, if it pleases my Lord." _A_ _bloody_ _bastard,_ he thought. _And_ _a_ _courteous_ _one_ , _at_ _that_. She was barely audible and her accent did not sound very Northern to him. She spoke as if he was threatening her with a buggering sword at her throat. One of her small hands were at her neck, and she was tugging at her skin between two long fingers.

Though she was sitting down, Sandor assumed the girl was taller than her sisters, as she looked very slim and had long limbs. She did not look very shapely; she had a lean body and a narrow waist, but what she lacked in bust and hips, she made up for in looks. Though plain, she was very pretty, Sandor admitted to himself. Her dark eyes were downcast, her eyelids heavy, lined with thick lashes. She had drawn her pink lip between her teeth, worrying it in her nervousness. She still would not look at him. Her face was solemn and long; she had her father's look, and though she resembled her bastard brother quite closely, her skin was not as pale. Too light to be bronze but too dark to be fair, her skin was a tawny olive tone, and pink at her cheeks, though this was probably because she was under his stare.

He took a swig from his wineskin and looked at the girl again.

"Why aren't you sitting with your family?" He wasn't sure why he was asking, because in all honesty, he could not care less. Her reply was no more than a meek mumble down at her hands, which were now clasped tightly in her lap. Sandor chuckled slightly to himself at that and drank some more

"Say that again." He demanded. However, the affronted expression that befell her face told him that she had taken offence to his laugh and was reluctant to repeat her reasoning. After a pause, she replied in a polite tone.

"I pray you take no offence, but I do not see how that is any of your business, my Lord."

Sandor scowled and looked at the girl coldly. Considering how scared she seemed when he sat down, he was surprised by her refusal.

"Don't bloody 'Lord' me, girl. I'd hold that tongue in the future, if I were you. Count yourself lucky that there are other people here."  
With that, he gave the girl a curt nod before standing up. He knew the girl watched him with wide eyes as he walked to the hall doors and out into the hallway.

He was not familiar with the castle, but wanted- no, _needed_ to find somewhere quiet to enjoy his drink in peace. As he ambled heavily though the dingy corridors, he reminded himself to ask where the best whorehouse was in Winterfell. His aimless walking came to a halt when he noticed a small stone staircase around a corner. The gods only knew where it led, but at the moment, it was the perfect place for Sandor to drink peacefully. So, with his wineskin in hand, he sat down on one of the steps and drank.

* * *

 _ **Eruanna**_

Her hands felt slightly clammy as she closed her book. The man, who she had learned was called The Hound or Sandor Clegane, had threatened her. _He had threatened her!_ She was only trying to read her book in peace and suddenly he was sitting beside her, and asking her all sorts of questions.

Of course she was rude to stare at him, she knew, but she couldn't help herself!  
Where the left side of his face was once good, it was now a grotesque mass of scar, red and twisted, blemished with cracks and pocked with craters. The horrendous burn scar left him with a hole where his ear might have been and he had brushed his long dark hair to the left, to cover where his hair once grew. His face was gaunt on the unmarred side, and he had a sharp cheekbone with a strong jaw. Beneath a dark, heavy brow and a burnt one were grey eyes, sullen with anger and inebriation, burning holes through her skin. His face was the physical form of hatred and anger and when he noticed her staring and looked at her, Eruanna wanted nothing more than to disappear.

At this point, she was no longer hungry, so she stood up to leave the Hall. Tucking the book under her arm, she walked to the hall door and out. The corridors were very empty because most of the staff were busy preparing chambers and food for the King and his family. Eruanna began to hum softly to herself as she walked to her chamber.

To her horror, as she turned the corner, she saw the Hound sitting on the steps leading up to her bedchamber. She swallowed thickly, eyes wide, trying to decide what to do.

 _Just go to your chamber. What can he possibly do?_ Eruanna thought.

Although the problem was exactly that. She did not know what he could possibly do. She did not know what he was capable of.

She went to turn back, to leave before it was too late.

"What are you doing here, girl?"

 _Too late._

Hesitantly, she turned forward again, hands clasped in front of her.

"I- I was residing to my bedchamber, my Lord." She slowly took a few steps forward, towards her staircase where he sat. It was difficult for her to look at him, as his stare was always sharp.

"This is your chamber?" The Hound's voice was a low snarl and he used his head to point towards the door at the top of the stairs. Eruanna nodded very slightly, biting the inside of her cheek.

He raised his wineskin to his mouth and drunk from it, watching her all the while.

"How old are you, girl?" The question came with some carelessness but the cold bite in his voice was there all the same.

She hesitated.

"My seventeenth nameday is in two weeks." She dared not look at him as she spoke, and her voice was barely above a whisper, tense and frightened.  
His cold eyes were still on her though and the goosebumps spread over her arms.

"And you are expecting a large celebration, I suspect? With singers and a great bloody feast?"

He was mocking her, she realised. With a shake of her head, Eruanna swallowed thickly, glancing at him.

"N-No. No, of course not, my Lord." She felt as though she was being scolded, like her father had caught her doing something wrong.

Eruanna saw him hesitate for a mere moment, but suddenly he reached for her and his large fingers were rough around her wrist. Instantly, her eyes widened and she struggled in vain to pull away from him, but his grasp was iron, tight and unyielding. He took the wineskin first to his mouth and sipped at it, before placing it within her small hand.  
She frowned deeply, pausing her attempt to get out of his hold.

"Take it, girl," he rasped. "It seems you need it more than me."

Eruanna was unsure of the appropriate response. Of course, she should have said no and went to her chamber but instead she stared at the wineskin in her hand.  
"I- I haven't- I've never—"

He let out a laugh which sounded more like a bark. His calloused fingers were still tight around her wrist.

"It isn't going to kill you, girl." He told her. "I'd have thought that you'd have more buggering guts."

Just give it back to him and leave, she told herself. But after drawing her lip between her teeth and releasing it again, she raised the wineskin to her lips and tentatively took a sip. Her tongue suddenly felt on fire and her warm cheeks were flushed pink under his stare. After swallowing the wine, she started to cough and her eyes were like saucers once again.

She heard a snort and something that sounded like a chuckle and realised that the man was laughing at her. Lowering the wineskin, the look she gave him was curious, albeit fearful.

"Why do you stay here?" The question came from him unexpectedly. Eruanna didn't know why he was asking or whether he cared; in fact, the question itself confused her.  
She raised two long fingers to the corner of her mouth and wiped the remains of the wine gently.

"What do you mean, Ser? I have nowhere else... Winterfell is my home."

Sandor Clegane let out a brutal scoff and looked at her with eyes that pierced her like daggers and she felt as though he could see right through her.

"Your home? You are not even allowed to sit with your buggering siblings at a feast, or stand with them in a bloody line to greet the King. Your bed chambers are in a tower, far away from the Stark's."

She wondered whether he had ventured inside her chamber before she arrived.  
He stood up and he towered over her; it was difficult for her to look at him. She did not know who this man was or why he was asking all of these questions or why he cared about how she was treated by her family.

The wineskin was at her pink lips once more and she stood up on the third step of the staircase, so she was almost the same height as him. After swallowing the fiery wine down, she took the wineskin away from her mouth for a final time.

"I do not have a choice, Ser."

She held out the wineskin to him and he took it from her; his cold, rough fingers brushed against her slender ones. As he brought the rim of the wineskin to his mouth, Eruanna's eyes widened ever so slightly, because just as he drank from the wineskin like she had moments before, he kept his eyes trained on hers and she could not tear her eyes away.  
After a long moment of silence, he spoke.

"Piss on that, everyone has a choice. You don't know the first thing about having no choice."

Without another word, the Hound turned and walked away from her, and Eruanna watched him, his words ringing in her ears.


	2. She's Been Living on The Highest Shelf

_**Sandor**_

The Starks had been staying at the Red Keep for a fortnight and the golden hand brooch was worn at Eddard Stark's breast after King Robert made him Hand of the King. Sandor was walking towards Prince Joffrey's bedchamber but he was stopped in his tracks when he heard Princess Cyrenna call out his name.

 _What in Seven Hells does she want?_

He turned on his heel to face her.

She walked over to him and he looked at her, waiting for her instruction. She spoke in her usual, formal manner.

"Hound, go and find Eddard Stark's bastard daughter. I have matters to discuss with her. I will be waiting in the gardens."

Sandor nodded obediently and walked away from the Princess to go and find the Stark bastard. She was difficult to find, but after a brief conversation with a handmaiden, he eventually arrived at a small chamber. His large fist rapped against the door and he waited for a response. After a short pause, he heard the girl's quiet voice.

"Come in.."

The metal knob was cold in his hand as he turned it, and the door creaked when he pushed it open. The girl was perched on the windowsill with a book propped on her lap. Her long, dark hair was open and fell down her back.

She turned to look at him.

"M-my Lord. Can I help you?" Her voice betrayed her surprise. Although she sounded less scared than the first time they spoke, the fear was still undeniably present in her voice.

 _Not a buggering Lord._

"Princess Cyrenna has asked to speak with you." He rasped. Her dark brows arched high at that and confusion blossomed on her pretty face.

"Me?" She closed her book and got down from the windowsill, straightening the skirt of her blue gown. "Now?"

He did not break eye contact with her once. It was plain that he intimidated her; she had diverted her gaze to the floor as she walked over. Sandor still towered in the doorway of the chamber and made no advance to move, so Eruanna was forced to squeeze past him. He felt a smirk play on his lips as her tiny body brushed against his, in an attempt to leave.

He began to walk away from the chamber and she followed, speeding up to match his pace.

They walked in complete silence until the girl spoke quietly.

"Do you know why Princess Cyrenna has requested my presence, Ser?"

He looked at her and shook his head once.

"I only take orders, girl. I do not ask questions."

Eruanna looked at him and nodded slightly.

"Of course not, my apologies, my Lord."

They continued to walk through the castle in silence. He was somewhat surprised that his disfigured face did not seem to affect her as it did in Winterfell and it appeared that she was now able to look at him without visibly flinching.

However, he also took notice that her hands were clasped tightly and she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth, glancing around. Her nervousness was clear and apprehension filled her dark eyes as they reached the gardens and approached the Princess.

Princess Cyrenna smiled widely at the girl.

"Ah, Eruanna!" She exclaimed as if they had been friends for years. Cyrenna embraced her in a sisterly manner and the look on Eruanna's face was slightly amusing to Sandor. The Princess then directed her attention to him and nodded as thanks.

"You may go now, Clegane."

Sandor gave the two girls a curt nod and walked back towards the castle.

* * *

 _ **Eruanna**_

Princess Cyrenna was shorter than Eruanna but was more shapely, her bust significantly more developed than Eruanna's own. She had a small waist and rounded hips, and bared a slight resemblance to her younger sister, Princess Myrcella. Her hair was braided in the Southern style and lilac silks adorned her body, her dress bejewelled with purple stones. It was clear that standing beside Cyrenna, Eruanna appeared very plain. Her dress was an old green gown with a pretty floral design embroidered on the bodice. But as lovely as it was, it looked a farce beside Cyrenna's rich and extravagant gown.

Eruanna often wondered what it would be like to be Royal or even a Trueborn. She was not one to be so disconcerted by such frivolous matters, but Eruanna still could not help notice that even Sansa wore finer gowns than her.

After embracing her, Cyrenna beamed at her kindly.

"My Lady?" Eruanna enquired timidly.

"Call me Cyrenna, please." She slipped at arm through Eruanna's and began to walk with her through the garden.

"Tell me," she began, "do you talk to your brother, Jon, often? Write letters to him?"

Eruanna frowned slightly and shook her head softly. Her tongue was caught in her throat for she was rarely called upon in such an upfront manner.

"There's no need to look so worried, dear!" She heard Cyrenna say, still holding her arm and walking.

"It is only that I wondered whether my uncle, Tyrion had left The Wall yet. But it is no matter, I shall find out through other means."

She shook her head dismissively and gave Eruanna a warm smile.

"I must go now, but thank you for speaking with me, even if it was only brief," Cyrenna smiled and released Eruanna's arm. As she turned to leave, though, she paused.

"Why don't you take a walk around the city or the gardens? It would be nice for you to meet someone."

Eruanna hesitated but nodded gently.

"Oh- um.. Alright. I- I don't think I can go on my own." She drew the inside of her lip between her teeth, hands clasped.

"I will send a guard down to escort you there!" Cyrenna had already begun to walk away, leaving Eruanna standing there.

She was not sure what to do, so she just stood there, waiting.

After the conversation she had just had, her trail of thoughts led to her half-brother, Jon. Eruanna was very close with Jon when they were children, as Lady Catelyn did not like either of them spending time with Ned's trueborn children. However as they grew older, Jon began to spend time with Robb, and though Eruanna was also very close with Robb, she could not join in with them playing swords or going riding and so she was left alone.

Despite this, she had loved Jon with all of her heart and regarded him as her true brother, even though he was not.

She _had_ loved him like a brother until he left her. Eruanna recalled how much she had cried the night she found out that Jon was going with their Uncle Benjen to the Wall. The only person who ever understood her situation was going to leave her! It was strange for her to be so hostile, but with hot tears of anger blazing in her eyes, she swore to Jon that she would never forgive him for abandoning her and for leaving—

"So, you want to visit the city, girl?"

A cold rasp dragged her out of her thoughts. Startled, her eyes met those of The Hound.

She hesitated.

"I– yes, my Lord.. Princess Cyrenna suggested it would be nice for me. She told me that she was sending a guard..." Her quiet voice trailed off when she realised she was looking at the guard Cyrenna had sent.

Without waiting for her to finish talking, The Hound began to walk briskly and Eruanna trailed behind him, as they headed towards the town in total silence.

* * *

 _ **Sandor**_

The low hum of the city filled the air, along with the stench of piss. Despite this, the girl was enthralled by the small folk and her eyes were filled with wonder as she walked with him through the town. Sandor forced himself to hold back a snort. It clearly didn't take much to impress her.

A mousy woman was selling flowers at a small stall and she held a little girl in her arms. He saw Eruanna give the woman a shy smile as they walked on.

"It was my seventeenth nameday a moon ago." He looked back at the girl.

At first, he did not think she was talking to him as she generally seemed reluctant to make conversation with him and her eyes were looking elsewhere, but she soon directed her gaze back to him. He frowned slightly at the pointless statement she had just made but he then realised that she was referring to the exchange they had had in Winterfell.

"Happy nameday to you." He responded. He continued walking with her, his armour clanking with each step.

The girl sped up slightly so she was walking beside him and for some reason, it seemed that she was attempting to make conversation with him.

"My father told me that it is time for me to marry, now that I am ten-and-seven years old."

Sandor could not hold back his snort this time.

"Your father brought you all this way to Kings Landing, only to get rid of you." He laughed dryly.

A frown appeared on Eruanna's face and she lowered her gaze to the ground.

It was an odd prospect, the thought of the girl being married. She probably had some Loras Tyrell in her head, a pretty Lord who could give her a few children before pissing off to battle to get killed.

"I doubt any noble house will marry off one of their lordling sons to a bastard." He said.

She looked at him again and nodded in agreement.

"I told my father that, I said that to him! But he told me that he would like for me to wed before I turn eighteen."

"Is that what you want, girl?" He heard himself say. He was surprised that those words left his mouth because he had no reason to care about what she wanted.

The girl paused before shrugging gently. She wrapped her arms around herself, walking.

"I do not mind.. I have nothing else to do with my life. I'd like to marry, I think. As long as I am married to someone who treats me well, of course. If I end up with someone who does not beat me, then I am content with the idea of marriage."

He saw her nod slightly as if she was accepting that to herself, and she looked back at him, seeming to be waiting for his response.

He gave her a small nod.

"Well, good luck to you." Was his reply. Although her marital status was of little concern to Sandor, he was aware that it was probably the only thing on the girl's mind at this point in her life.

They continued to stroll through the city in silence though now it was a surprisingly comfortable silence.

On the street corner was a young singer, with fiery red hair and a crooked nose. The girl had never seen a real singer before and she quickly made to stand with the small crowd that had gathered around the man. Sandor stood back, waiting for the girl, not even attempting to hide his disgust. He was singing a terribly bawdy song about a knight who had thirteen women in one night.

 _Amateur_ , Sandor thought.

Eruanna clapped along with everyone else and smiled obliviously, the meaning of the song obviously lost on her. Once the song had concluded, she applauded the man politely and walked back over to Sandor.

Her face was slightly flushed and she was smiling when they began to walk again.

"I've never heard a singer like that before, my Lord. The song was rather romantic, don't you think?" She said.

Before he could enlighten her about the true meaning of the song, though, she had become distracted by a fight that had broken out between two men outside of a small tavern.

 _This is the last time I agree to babysit._

Sandor ushered the girl in the opposite direction, to avoid any involvement in the altercation. As they walked, he noticed how content she seemed.

"My sisters are scared of you." Again, the girl spoke out of nowhere, and for no reason, but it seemed the thought must have entered her head and so she spoke it.

"And you are not?" Sandor asked her, his heavy brow raised.

She paused for a moment and then shook her head softly, her curls moving with her action.

"A little bit," she admitted.

"I was afraid of you the first time we met.. But I do not know you well enough to be scared of you. I have no reason to be scared. And I refuse to judge you on your appearance, I just think that's quite ignorant."

Though her words seemed genuine, he scoffed loudly.

"Well it seems that all bloody Westeros is ignorant then, doesn't it?"

* * *

 _ **Eruanna**_

As Ser Sandor pushed her chamber door open, Eruanna stood back, unclasping her hands. The tall man turned to her, stepping back from the door. Nodding gently, she took a few steps forward until she was in her chamber, then turned to face him.

 _Remember your courtesies._

"Thank you for escorting me to the city, my Lord. It was most enjoyable." A small smile graced her face and she forced herself to look at him.

She meant it, though, she had enjoyed herself. She had never visited the smallfolk in Winterfell or anywhere else before and this was the first time she had ever been in a city on her own.

The Hound nodded at her but said nothing. She furrowed her brow slightly, for fear of having offended him and lowered her gaze to the floor.

"I pray you have a good evening, Ser Sandor. I bid you goodnight."

The noise he made in response sounded like a grunt.

"I'm no knight, girl. You'd do well to remember that."

After Sandor Clegane had closed her chamber door and left, Eruanna went back to the window, to pull the heavy curtains shut.

She had had a lovely day, in all honesty, and she truly did not believe The Hound was as scary as many people made him out to be. Of course, his demeanour and scars were terrifying, and he spoke rudely and angrily, but he hadn't done anything to _scare_ her... yet.

As she sat on her bed, her fingers braiding her long black hair, her thoughts led to the Hand's Tourney that Eruanna had attended a week before.

It was a fantastic sight, the brave knights on horseback, the crowds of people cheering, all the ladies swooning.

Though Eruanna loathed violence and war, she thought the jousting tourney was thrilling to watch. Ser Loras Tyrell was ever the chivalrous knight, offering roses to ladies in return for their favours. He gave a rose to Sansa, Eruanna remembered, and Sansa had blushed as red as the rose between her fingers.

The armour he wore was golden and adorned with flowers, and it shone in the sunlight.

 _The Knight of Flowers._

When the penultimate tournament was to take place, it seemed that Ser Loras was to fight The Mountain.

Ser Gregor Clegane was aptly named, as he was a mountain compared to the people who surrounded him. The beast of a man stood high above everyone else, and his cruel eyes were intently watching Ser Loras.

As they began to ride for the joust, though, it seemed that The Mountain's horse was distracted by Ser Loras' mare and Ser Gregor was unhorsed by Ser Loras.

 _The mare was in heat_ , Eruanna had realised afterwards.

She remembered how Ser Loras had ridden near the crowds, smiling at the applause he received, but suddenly the crowd's attention was stolen as Ser Gregor had drawn his sword and murdered his horse, unleashing his rage on the innocent animal, eliciting horrified gasps from the audience.

It was a brutal sight and one that Eruanna yearned to forget.

The Mountain then approached Ser Loras and she had feared that he was going to kill the Knight of Flowers until The Hound had intervened and protected him. Ser Sandor was shorter than his brother but fought just as well, even better perhaps. Though she knew nought of it, she could tell by watching Sandor Clegane that he fought with excellent swordsmanship.

Eruanna remembered how her skin had erupted in goosebumps and her heart hammered in her chest. She was lucky enough to have never witnessed a murder before, and she did not wish for that to change.

It was a terrifying moment; the two brothers fought ruthlessly and exchanged blows, swords swinging and teeth bared until King Robert had ordered them to stop in a resonating bellow.

The Mountain had then stormed away in rage and, though Ser Loras was to combat the Hound in the final joust, instead he yielded the match gallantly and named Sandor Clegane the champion of the Hand's Tourney, to express his gratitude to the Hound for saving his life.

Everyone cheered, including Eruanna.

The Hound did not smile, though, not once.

In fact, he seemed embarrassed.

As Eruanna fastened the end of her braid, she smiled softly to herself, but there was more sadness in it than there was happiness.

Her chin came to rest in her palm and her thoughts drifted to marriage and to her new innominate groom; in her head, his face resembled that of Ser Loras or Ser Jaime, golden, handsome and gallant.

 _Maybe marriage will not be so bad,_ she thought.

 _Maybe I'll love him._


	3. It Don't Run in Our Blood

_**Eruanna**_

The days she spent in the Red Keep were fairly repetitive. First, she'd dress and eat, then she would read and stitch, and sometimes, if she was feeling particularly creative, she would write a little. Writing was one of Eruanna's favourite things to do; she liked to write little songs and poems. Often, they were songs for the gods, but sometimes they would be about Winterfell or about love or family.

It was difficult for her to make songs about knights and maidens for she did not know much about them, in truth. Most of what she knew of them, she had learned from books and from the septa.

Eruanna knew little of what went on in the court, as she stayed within the four walls of her chamber most of the time. In fact, she doubted that anyone even knew she was here.

However, for the past week, she frequented the chamber in which her father rested. She did not know how it came to be, but her father's leg was broken. The maester had given Ned Stark milk of the poppy to ease his agony and he had now fallen into a slumber that lasted for days.

In the dim chamber of the Hand's tower, which was only illuminated by a few candles, Eruanna sat on a wooden stool beside her father's bed, holding a damp cloth to his forehead as he felt feverish and hot. The dark curtains were drawn closed and the room was warm; a fire was crackling in the hearth in the corner.

When she was not praying for her father (which she did very often), she would sing for him quietly, Northern songs and songs for the gods.

Though she was of the old gods herself, Eruanna was also raised with exposure to the new gods, and much to her surprise, she secretly had as much faith in the new gods as she did in the old.

But Eruanna Snow would always be of the old gods, for those were her father's gods and those were the gods that would return him back to his full health.

She often sat for hours, waiting for him to wake, and she would occasionally bring a book with her to prevent boredom. Today, she was reading a story of a sea maiden who caused an entire crew to fall in love with her, which resulted in all the men fighting each other to the death for her heart. And once they were all dead, the sea maiden took the ship for herself.

But now, hours had passed and he had still not woken and so Eruanna rose from the stool quietly and placed a light kiss on her father's brow.

He did not stir once as she walked to the door and left the dark chamber.

#

Noon passed and dusk fell and Eruanna now sat by the window of her chamber with a piece of unfinished embroidery in hand. As she hummed softly, her nimble fingers repeated the motion of pushing the needle through the fabric and pulling the delicate thread back up through it again. Though he did not express it, Eruanna knew that her lord father felt bad for hiding her away only to marry her off and so as an apology of sorts, he bought her a needle and an array of thread, along with a book or two.

At present, she was embroidering a piece of light green-grey silk with the trees of the snowy Godswood in Winterfell. It was her favourite place. She had stitched the oaks, the ashes and the sentinels, the elms and the ironwoods and now she was stitching the great weirwood heart tree. With meticulous accuracy and a pull of the needle through the fabric, the red sap eyes of the heart tree were formed.

Then, a sudden noise caught her attention. Alarmed, she looked over to the ajar door, afraid of an intruder; her only defence was the small needle between her fingers, which would be of little avail if there was an attacker.

Thankfully, though, she relaxed when she saw that it was only a small brown cat who had found its way into her chamber.

As she stood up to go and stroke the cat, her door burst open, causing Eruanna to jump back in fright.

"I almost had you!"

Arya Stark stood in the doorway, wearing a tattered tunic, a leather jerkin and torn breeches, panting slightly.

"Arya, you gave me quite the fright! Were you chasing the poor cats again?" Eruanna asked, looking over at the brown tom cat which had now curled up by the window.

The girl nodded, her disordered brown hair flopping forward over her dirty face.

"Syrio said that chasing cats will improve my speed."

Although it was kept a secret from Sansa, Arya had confided in Eruanna about the true nature of her 'dancing lessons'.

Eruanna sat down on her bed, patting the space beside her as an invitation to her half-sister.

As Arya came and sat beside her, Eruanna noticed the scratches and grazes that covered Arya's pasty arms.

"Are you okay?" She asked her younger sister, eyebrows knitted together.

Arya looked at Eruanna and then back at her arms before nodding.

"I'm fine, I can barely feel them. Syrio says that my enemies will give me more than scratches if I don't get faster."

Eruanna cocked a brow at that.

"Don't be silly, you do not have any enemies, Arya. It is just a little bit of fun, isn't it?"

Arya's wild hair flew as she shook her head profusely and she lowered her voice, speaking frantically.

"Father wouldn't listen to me, he said they were mummers! But I heard the men talking... They were talking about how the lion and the wolf will eat each other, and that if one Hand can die then why can't another? And they spoke about a war and a princess and a _khal_ and—"

"Arya, I think that if father says they were mummers, then they were mummers. Nobody wants to kill our father, he has done nothing wrong,"

Eruanna shook her head. The thought of anyone taking her father away was a terrifying thought and caused her to feel very uncomfortable.

"Come, let's talk about something else..." She suggested, offering Arya a small smile.

"No, I _know_ they were not mummers! One of the men, he was a wizard. And they were talking about killing father, I'm sure of it! And the other man, he mentioned the Queen… He said that she was very angry because Princess Cyrenna has fled Kings Landing. She ran away in secret! Father wouldn't listen to me, but it's true, Eruanna, they want to hurt him!"

" _Please_ , Arya, enough. Enough of this nonsense... I do not want to hear about anyone trying to hurt father, it is not true."

It was difficult, but Eruanna attempted to be as stern as she could, though a pleading tone slipped into her voice, unbidden.

Arya scowled slightly but when she noticed the disturbance on her elder sister's face, she fell quiet again.

After a pause, she spoke.

"When do you think father will wake?"

Eruanna shrugged gently and looked at her sister.

"In truth, I am not sure... I only pray he wakes soon."

The younger of the two girls nodded her head in agreement and let out a sigh.

"I hope so too."

* * *

 _ **Sandor**_

The table shook when he slammed the empty bottle down. It was his third of the hour and Sandor had no plan to stop there. The tavern was a small place, dark and dingy, with a smell of stale wine and burnt wood. With King Robert away on his hunt, and Prince Joffrey busy entertaining Sansa Stark, Sandor had all the time in the world to spare, and he spent it the same way each day.

First, the brothel.

Then, the tavern.

After a whore, he would come to the tavern and drink himself into a drunken stupor, to douse the burning desire he had to go and take a sword to his brother's throat.

"Another?" A plump blonde serving wench stood beside the table, holding a bottle in her hands.

With a shake of his head, Sandor refused the eighth bottle. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Seven," he rasped, gesturing to the empty bottles on the table, "one for each of the bloody gods."

His jape earned a laugh from the woman and she thanked him as he paid for his drink.

He had now managed to kill a few hours and begun to make his way back to the Red Keep, paying no heed to the stares that he was now accustomed to. A movement of his hand to the hilt of his sword was enough to halt them, and people would be too afraid to look again. Sandor, although having drunk seven bottles, felt no more inebriated than he did before he went to the tavern.

He walked down several streets and turned a few corners until he arrived at the Red Keep.

Although he lived in the castle most of the time, he also owned a modest house in the city of Kings Landing. It was mainly for the nights when he had drunk too much and could not make it all the way to the castle, or on those rare occasions that he would find a woman to whom he did not need to give coin.

The corridors were silent, an eerie glow from the torches lighting the way.

Sandor hated the torches. He would have gladly walked through a pitch black corridor instead.

However, as he walked through the empty hallway, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Through narrowed eyes, he spotted the Stark bastard coming down the staircase that led to the Hand's solar.

With footsteps light for such a large man, he approached her quietly.

"So, the pretty little bird decided to take leave from her cage, for once."

Her skirts swirled as she turned abruptly and he saw her jump in fright.

"Ser Sandor, you tread lightly. I apologise, I did not hear you." The girl stammered pathetically, hands wringing together.

Suddenly, his fist was vice tight around her arm and he shoved her roughly, so her back was pressed hard against the wall, fast and hard enough to elicit a small cry from the girl.

"How many times do I need to tell you, eh, girl? I'm no _fucking_ knight." He sneered at her, his face close to hers, close enough that he could see the goosebumps that had erupted on her neck.

She opened her mouth, maybe to reply, maybe to scream.

Sandor did not care.

"You make one noise and I'll _kill_ you, believe that."

Her mouth fell shut.

The girl was looking down in fear, her muscles tense under his hold, and he could tell she was holding her breath.

Trembling, she made no sound now, and he stared hard at her.

"Look at me," he commanded.

When the girl did not respond and continued to look down, Sandor lost his patience.

"I said, look at me!" She winced as he grabbed her face. Her cheeks were soft under the rough pads of his fingers and he forced her to crane her head up, holding her jaw tightly in his large hand.

"Had no problem looking at me when I took you to the city, though, did you, girl?"

Her black eyes were wide and drowning in fear, and it was clear that she was forcing herself to keep her eyes on him.

"What were you doing, girl?" His voice was a drunken rasp, and the girl swallowed thickly.

He saw Eruanna hesitate, probably to think of the correct words to use.

"I- I came to see my father, my Lord..." She whispered, still trembling.

"Is that so, little bird? And what lies has your Lord father told you this night?"

He saw her forehead crease into a slight frown, her eyebrows drawn together.

"My father is not a liar... He is an honourable man."

"Honour!"

He scoffed at that, pressing his fingers harder into her arm, and then spat at her feet, to show what he thought of that notion.

"Bugger that. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Tell me, where was your father's precious _honour_ when he fucked your mother? Where was it when he took the wench who mothered your bastard brother?"

His laugh was an icy roar.

"No, girl, your father is no more honourable than I am a knight."

Sandor held Eruanna's arm still, and his other hand was tight under her chin.

"Listen close, little bird, for you'll need this when you've married your pretty little lordling," he snarled.

The girl flinched as he moved his face closer to hers, barely an inch between them. He lowered his voice, so it was no more than a murmur.

"They're all liars here, and every one better than you."

His heavy breathing was the only noise to be heard in the silence of the corridors. The girl's face had blanched, in terror perhaps. Tears welled in her eyes and she was staring at him with bated breath, he saw.

The burning stench of wine filled the air around them, butchering the aroma of roses from the girl's skin.

"Best if you fly away now, girl. Wouldn't do for your Lord father to come down those stairs now, would it? What would he say, seeing the Lannister dog with his little bird in the black of night?"

He let go of her then, and heard her release a breath; her hand was on her arm, rubbing the place that he had held so tightly. She still stood there, though, as if she was too afraid to move.

Sandor looked at her.

"What are you waiting for, girl?" He growled. "Fly!"

And she did.

Holding her skirts in white fists, he watched her flee down the corridor as fast as her feet would take her until she was out of Sandor's sight.

* * *

 _ **Eruanna**_

The velvet bodice of her dress felt rough under her fingers, her hands clasped across her middle. She felt constricted as if it had been laced too tight. Walking beside her father, her cloak was heavy on her shoulders and her hood had been pulled forward at her father's instruction, to conceal her face.

"Father, I do not understand.. Why does he want to see _me_? I haven't done anything…" she said quietly.

As they walked together through the hallways of the Red Keep, Eruanna watched her father. His wooden cane echoed against the floor as he limped and Eruanna slipped her arm through his to help him.

But still, her father did not answer her question.

The rest of the walk to Maegor's Holdfast was silent, and they stopped outside of a door, where a man wearing a white cloak stood at guard.

"Ser Barristan," her father greeted the man.

Eruanna's head was still lowered, her face hidden from the man. The white cloak he wore told Eruanna that he was a knight of the Kingsguard.

"Wait here," she heard her father say to her.

The guard opened the door for him and Ned went to the doorway for a few seconds, before reemerging. With a nod to her, he came and stood beside her again.

Eruanna was about to ask her father for an explanation, but before she could, some voices distracted her.

The door opened again, and out from the chamber came the Maester, Queen Cersei and her son, Prince Joffrey.

Though she could not see her father properly, she knew he bowed his head and she heard Ned utter a 'Your Grace' to the Queen, so Eruanna echoed him.

After the voices of the Cersei and her son had disappeared down the corridor, Ned entered the chamber and beckoned her after him. Hesitantly, Eruanna followed him through, muttering a prayer under her breath.

The first thing she noticed in the dark chamber was the pungent smell; it reeked of blood, of smoke and of death, and it hit her like a blow to the gut. She had to force herself not to gag. Stepping around a bloody garment on the floor, she followed her father into the chamber carefully.

On a great four-poster bed, under white silken sheets, lay King Robert Baratheon. Sweat covered his face and there was dried blood in his beard.

He was dying.

When she realised whom she was in the presence of, she dropped into a sudden curtesy.

"Your Grace," she said after her father, still standing beside him. The bed creaked as King Robert sat up slightly.

"Ah, you brought her with you, did you, Ned?" The King looked at her, and Eruanna lowered her gaze to a bloody rag on the floor.

"Come forward, girl. Take your hood down too." His voice was weak; it was still as low a rumble as ever, but weak and feeble.

After an unsure glance at her father, Eruanna stepped forward and slowly, she lowered her hood.

She was unsure where to look, for King Robert's eyes bore too deeply into her for her to comfortably look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes on her hands, still clasped across her middle.

"Gods be good, you look just like her..." Her skin grew hot under his stare, and she shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do or say.

"Damn it, Ned, damn you," he said, turning his attention back to her father. "You had to give her the Stark look, didn't you? Thought the last time I'd see Lyanna was all but seventeen years ago. Clearly not it seems, because you brought her with you. The last face I wanted to see before I die was Lyanna's. Close enough, don't you think? Gods, I feel a young man all over again. Just like Lyanna." He pointed a large finger at her to prove his point.

The two men spoke of her as if she was not standing in the room, and although Eruanna was used to feeling invisible, this particular conversation made her feel very uncomfortable. She disliked the thought that King Robert saw some of Lyanna in her, for everyone was aware of Robert's feelings for Lyanna, the love and lust, and Eruanna truly hoped he had none of those feelings for her.

 _He is like an Uncle to me,_ she thought, feeling slightly disgusted.

"She is not Lyanna, Robert."

Her father cleared his throat.

"And, unfortunately, I cannot help passing on my family's face to my children. It is what happens when one has a child. They bear a resemblance to their parents. It is why my children have my look, and your children have Cersei's."

The way he said it made it sound as if there was some other meaning behind it. But whatever it was, if there was any other meaning at all, was lost on Eruanna.

"You must be, what, seventeen?" The King asked her.

She nodded gently.

"Yes, your Grace."

"Old enough to be a wife and a mother then. Lyanna was younger than that. You're older than my girl too, wherever in Seven Hells she's run off to. She's the same age as your Robb, I think. Maybe younger. Gods know... It seems she didn't wish to wed a damned Dornish Prince, so she fled. Would you marry a Dornish Prince, girl?"

Glancing at her father, Eruanna swallowed.

"If my Lord father deemed it appropriate, then, yes, I would marry a Dornish Prince, your Grace."

The King laughed at that.

"Look at that, Ned, it seems you've raised a sensible one! A good girl. Does she always do as she's told?"

A sweet, albeit forced, smile graced her lips, but her right hand was at her neck and she rubbed her fingers against her collarbone nervously.

When her father nodded, King Robert said, "Well, it's time you get her married off, Ned. When you've married her off to some high Lord, I'm sure she'll give her husband no trouble. Not like the one I've married."

"She's a bastard, Robert." Her father's bluntness caused her to flinch slightly, and she set her jaw.

"That is true... I've told you before, Ned. You know a King has certain powers, I could–"

With some rashness, Ned cut him off.

"And I have told you before, I will not dishonour Catelyn."

The atmosphere in the room changed quickly, and the chamber suddenly felt cold. It seemed that Ned did not think that the rest of this conversation was appropriate for Eruanna's ears, and, with his mouth pressed in a thin line, he told her to leave.

She curtsied before the King with a soft 'your Grace', and then raised the hood of her cloak again, before walking to the door of the chamber.

After she left the chamber with a nod to Ser Barristan, she walked away from the chamber and prayed silently that the Stranger take King Robert quickly and painlessly.

* * *

 ** _AN; Thank you for reading! This is the first note I've left so far, mainly because FFnet doesn't have an 'add note' option._**

 ** _But anyway what do you guys think so far?_**

 ** _Initially, I planned to for some other stuff to happen in this chapter but I've decided to keep it for the next one. You guys should see the spreadsheets I've made to plan this fanfic omg._**

 ** _Oh, and I've made a pinterest board for this fanfic and for Eruanna's character just so I can flesh her out a little more, and get a clearer idea of what she is like, if anyone is interested, the board is titled 'Eruanna Snow'._**  
 ** _My main faceclaims for her at the moment are Adelaide Kane, Kaya Scodelario, Rocío Crusset and Astrid Berges-Frisbey, or maybe a hybrid of them all._**

 ** _Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sandor's other side was explored a little more here and it was really fun as a writer to write that scene, extra points if you noticed the canon references!_**  
 ** _I wasn't actually going to use the nickname 'little bird' at first but it adds so much to the dynamic and also the title is literally a direct link to little birds so it kinda felt silly if I didn't use it._**

 ** _It is the most rewarding feeling as a writer to get faves and reviews, so if you enjoyed the chapter (or didn't) please leave a fave/review so I know that people are actually reading/enjoying it! Tell me what you think, I won't bite!_**

 ** _Once again, thank you for reading, and Happy Easter!_**

 ** _\- Zaf_**


	4. Long Live the King

_**Sandor**_

The bells of King's Landing rang loudly as the new King took his seat on Iron Throne.

King Robert Baratheon was dead.

Upon Joffrey's golden head lay a gleaming crown, adorned with rubies the colour of blood. His lips were twisted into a smug smile, a replication of the expression his mother wore.

Sandor stood beside the throne, on the dais. Under his hand, the hilt of his sword was as cold as ice, and his helm cast a dark shadow over his face. The men of the City Watch lined the walls and the men of the Kingsguard stood in front of Joffrey, ready to defend him with their life.

To the right of Joffrey sat the Queen Regent, but there was something amiss about Cersei Lannister. On her stone face, an abundance of glee was present where mourning should have been.

As the vast doors opened, the attention of the court was drawn to Lord Eddard Stark.

The thud of his cane against the floor resonated through the silent hall, and he walked forward, looking around the Great Hall, but the looks he received back bore very little warmth.

A voice suspended the silence.

"All hail his Grace, Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

 _King of the Cunts, more like_ , thought Sandor.

Joffrey's voice was sharp as he addressed the court.

"I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation," the boy King said, "I wish to be crowned within the fortnight."

His voice was sharp and authoritative, his intentions clear. Although his father had only just passed, Joffrey hastened to don the crown and mount the Iron Throne.

"Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors," he said, green eyes narrowed.

"Ser Barristan..."

Barristan Selmy looked up at Lord Stark at the address.

The King straightened up, his cruel eyes on Lord Stark. The entire council and court looked to him, waiting for Eddard to speak.

Sandor saw Lord Stark's hand move to retrieve something and his own hand went to the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it.

However, when Eddard Stark drew a scroll of paper, Sandor relaxed his grasp.

"I believe no man here could ever question your honour," the Northern man said to Barristan Selmy.

The scroll was passed from Eddard Stark to the other man as the court watched eagerly.

"King Robert's seal... Unbroken," Ser Barrister uttered, looking at the scroll. He unrolled it and began to read it aloud.

"'Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as Regent until the heir come of age...'"

Murmurs erupted in the Hall at the words of King Robert's will.

Like a knife, Cersei Lannister's voice cut through the noise.

"May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?"

The man obliged and passed the letter to the Queen Regent, and still the court watched with bated breath.

"'Protector of the Realm'," she read sardonically,

"Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark? A piece of paper?"

Her amusement was apparent and, to the shock of the court, she tore the paper into four with the most casual air about her.

"Those were the King's words!" Ser Barristan exclaimed, clearly taken aback, watching the paper float down to settle like snow on the dais.

"We have a _new_ King now."

In the corner of his eye, Sandor saw Joffrey sit up smugly.

"Lord Eddard, when we last spoke you offered me some counsel," Cersei said, threat laced in her acid voice.

"Allow me to return the courtesy… Bend the knee, My Lord. Bend the knee and swear loyalty to my son... And we shall allow you to live out your days in the grey waste you call home"

It seemed the Northern man was relentless in his insistence that Joffrey should not be King.

"Your son has no claim to the Throne."

It was a stupid thing for the man to say, in Sandor's opinion, the proof of its stupidity present in Joffrey's reaction.

"Liar!" the King cried shrilly with an alarmed anger.

Sandor's hand was a boa constrictor around the hilt of his sword.

Cersei Lannister scoffed.

"You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark," she said, watching him with cold, green eyes.

"Ser Barristan, seize this traitor," she commanded. The agitation was plain on his face as Ser Barristan struggled to comply.

As Barristan Selmy approached the other man, Lord Stark's men stepped forward to defend him.

"See Barristan is a good man, a loyal man, do him no harm," Eddard said quickly, to stop his men from taking action against the knight.

"You think he stands alone?" Cersei asked Eddard as Ser Barristan stopped.

Sandor wrenched his sword from its scabbard with formidable strength, ready to defend his master.

"Kill him! Kill all of them, I command it!" The boy shrieked at him, pointing wildly towards Lord Stark and his men.

The Northern man spoke urgently.

"Commander, take the Queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard."

"Men of the Watch!" The Commander shouted to his men, and all the men of the City Watch drew their swords.

"I want no bloodshed," said Lord Eddard Stark, looking around the Hall at the many men who had their swords drawn. Sandor thought he looked wary.

"Tell your men to lay down their swords," the Stark man told Cersei, "No one needs to die."

"Now!" The Commander cried.

Suddenly, the men of the City Watch turned their swords on Lord Stark's men, and panic befell his face as they began to butcher his men.

The loud clash of steel against steel echoed through the hall and as one of Lord Stark's men approached Sandor with a sword, he swung his sword and it slashed through the man's body easily, like cutting through air. His bloodlust was wild and his fingers flexed against the hilt of his longsword. An easy swing of his sword saw to the end of another Stark man, and Sandor wrenched his bloody sword back, watching the man fall.

Suddenly, after all of Lord Stark's men were killed, Littlefinger seized the Northern man with a dagger to his throat.

"Take him to the Black Cells." Cersei Lannister said once all the combat had subsided. She stood, towering on the dais, and seemed unaffected by the fighting that had just ceased.

Two men grabbed Lord Stark roughly and started to drag him out of the Hall as the King watched.

Sandor replaced his sword in its scabbard, the adrenaline of the fight wearing off.

"Lord Stark's daughters still remain unaware of today's occurrences. Bring them to me and tell them that it is by their father's orders." Cersei ordered, facing the guards.

Her eyes were filled with a queer pleasure as she sent them to find his daughters.

#

It was a long and confusing walk to the girl's bedchamber, but after a few corners and staircases, he found himself at her door.

Without knocking, he grasped the handle and threw open her chamber door.

The Stark bastard gasped in surprise at the interruption and looked at him with wide eyes. She was sat on her bed, with a needle in her hand, clad in only her sleeping shift.

She blinked rapidly and he saw her swallow, before she looked back down at her lap, waiting for him to speak.

Suddenly, Sandor recalled the last time he had encountered her and realised why she seemed so frightened.

He stepped into her chamber without invitation and saw the girl go stiff, her knuckles white around the needle she clutched.

"The Queen Regent wants a word with you, little bird..." He rasped.

Eruanna looked up at him then, innocent confusion written all over her face. When looking at him, it seemed to Sandor that she forced herself to look at his eyes rather than his face or helm.

"With me...? But why—?"

"Your father's orders." He cut her off harshly.

She placed her needle down upon the piece of silk in her lap and tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear. When loose, her hair reached her hip bone, Sandor noticed.

"I- okay.. I shall need to change first..." She said quietly, looking at her attire.

With a curt nod, Sandor stepped out of the chamber, closing the door. Standing outside, he removed his helm and ran a hand through his hair. He could barely remember what he had said to Eruanna when he cornered her in the corridor, nor could he remember her responses to him. He could, however, remember how scared she had seemed.

He began to wonder what Cersei Lannister would do with her. Unlike her sisters, the girl on the other side of the door had very little status or value and could hardly be used as a bargaining chip. The girl was an outcast, just like him. Clearly she was unwanted by her family, and it seemed she was treated like a burden. It seemed unlikely that the girl had ever been truly happy or had ever made a choice for herself. To put it simply, the girl had no say in her shitty life and had to deal with whatever happened to her.

The Queen Regent will probably have her killed to send a warning to the Starks, Sandor realised. It would not be enough to cause a feud between the Starks and Lannisters but it would be enough to warn the Stark's who they are testing.

But he doubted that the Queen was even aware of her existence at present. And if she was unaware of Eruanna's existence, Sandor did not see why there was any reason that she should be made aware.

He could hear the girl humming quietly to herself through the door.

 _You're going to regret this, Dog._

Sandor seized the door handle again and pushed open the door. Eruanna jumped when she saw him and blushed deeply. Though she was dressed already and modest, she was still lacing her dress and scrambled to keep herself covered. Sandor held back his snort.

When he shut the door behind him, he saw the uneasiness bloom on her face as her eyes widened.

She took a slight step back as he walked towards her, panic filling her eyes.

Ignoring the girl's struggling, he reached out and grasped her arm.

"Please, I—"

He cut her off.

"If the Queen Regent was to look at you, could she recognise you as your father's bastard daughter?" He asked her, looking at her seriously.

Taken aback by his question, he saw the girl hesitate.

"I- I don't think so, I don't kn–"

"Well, think, girl! Could she identify you just by your face? Yes or no?" He shook her slightly.

The girl looked at him fearfully and shook her head slightly.

He held her there for a few moments, looking at her, before releasing her arm with a nod.

"Pack what you need, the important things," he ordered. "Pack it quick."

"What? I do not understand." She stuttered. She brought her right hand to the skin of her neck, looking at him worriedly.

He shoved a bag at her.

"You need to leave, girl. They'll kill you, no doubt."

He did not know whether it was his tone of voice or his expression, but something caused the girl to suddenly take action and she rushed to her wardrobe to take a couple of dresses out of the few she owned. Whilst she was busy shoving books and dresses into her bag, he replaced his helm over his head.

"You're a traitor's bastard, little bird. You've no chance here."

The girl paused her packing and peered at him.

" _Traitor_..? What do you mean?"

"I'll explain later, girl... Is there something about the word quick that you fail to understand?!"

The urgency in his voice must have prompted her to finish her packing faster and only a moment later did she present him with a full bag of her things.

"You have a cloak, little bird?" He asked.

The girl nodded.

"Well, I suggest you put it on."

She hastened over to the wardrobe again and from inside, she took a heavy black cloak. Once she had put it on and lifted the hood over her head, she looked up at him again, waiting for further instruction. It surprised him how easily she trusted him, but he quickly realised that the girl probably never had anyone on her side. That, or she was just terribly naive.

He held her bag in one hand, and pushed her shoulder with the other hand, directing her towards the door. After following her out, he closed the door to her chamber, and turned around to see her waiting for his next instruction.

He began to walk quickly.

"I'm taking you to the pier. You're to get on a boat, and it'll take you away from here."

However, as soon as he got to the word 'pier', the girl stopped in her tracks and began to shake her head vigorously.

"No. N-no, please, you don't understand- I- I _can't_ go!"

He grasped her upper arm and started walking again, almost dragging the girl.

"Would you rather be raped, or worse? Don't be stupid, girl. This is your only chance."

" _No!_ " She cried, pulling her arm away. The sheer terror in her voice startled Sandor slightly and he released her and stopped walking.

" _Please_ , there must be something else- not a boat- anything else, _anything_ , please." The girl begged, eyes full of horror.

And she did beg.

There was no pride preventing her from pleading with him; her hands were clasped and she stared up at him.

There was something about the pure fear in the girl's voice that reminded him of himself, because he knew what it was like to fear something so much. He could not only hear her fear but the terror was written on her face and the blood had drained from her rosy cheeks.

He spoke before he thought.

"I have an idea. You will not like it but it will guarantee your protection."

"I'll do anything else, please."

He paused, looking at the girl.

 _Oh, you're seriously going to regret this, Dog._

"If you want to keep that pretty little head of yours on your shoulders, you will lie about who you are... And you will wed me."

* * *

 ** _Eruanna_**

As she following him up the staircase leading to his house, she realised that The Hound did not live here most of the time.

Though small from the outside, the house appeared larger on the inside and one had to walk up the stairs to arrive at the living areas. At the bottom part of the house was a little well and a small stable, large enough to fit one horse, or two small ones. The staircase was steep and dark and Eruanna feared she was going to fall, so she clutched to the bannister tightly.

The man took another key from his pocket and unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, before pushing it open.

"Welcome home, little bird." He said sardonically.

Eruanna wrapped her arms around herself as she followed him through into the house.

Peering around the room, Eruanna was surprised to see that rather than separate rooms, the majority of the house was open.

There were no walls dividing the bedchamber from the kitchen and dining area.

The bed was a mess, sheets sprawled everywhere with crumpled pillows.

She noticed an empty bottle or two beside the basin in the kitchen.

It was a small place, but it was a million times better than being on a boat. She shuddered at the thought.

"Are you cold, girl?" She heard the man say.

He must have mistaken her shudder of fear for a shiver of cold.

She shook her head in response. Suddenly, she noticed there was no hearth in the house, but only a place in the kitchen area, for cooking food over a small fire.

 _This is your home now._

The chair creaked as the man sat down at the table, looking at her.

"Sit, girl." He said.

It was an order.

Moving from her awkward position in front of the door, she walked to the table and perched on the chair opposite him, looking down at her hands.

After a moment of silence, Eruanna dared to look at him.

"Why are you helping me...?" She asked timidly.

"Why shouldn't I help you?" The man threw back, annoyance seeping into his tone.

"I am the Stark bastard, a traitor's bastard, and you are the Lannister dog... I see no reason for you to help me..." She trailed off, rubbing her hands together slightly.

She heard him scoff.

"Well, little bird, maybe I feel as though outcasts should help each other."

Her ears pricked up at that and she looked at him with a frown.

"Help each other? How would I be helping you? Am I not a burden to you...? Gods, I pray this isn't some sort of scheme to force me to end up in a brothel, or some place worse. I-I still have my maidenhead and I do not want to agree to something stupid-"

She paused her rambling to take a deep breath, realising how fast she was talking.

"What I mean is, could you go over your plan, in detail?" She added meekly, glancing at him.

The man chuckled, looking at her, and Eruanna looked down at her lap again to avoid his piercing gaze.

"Do you not trust me, girl? Quite frankly, I think your only option is to trust me, because I don't see anyone else inviting you into their home to keep you safe. Do you?"

Scared that he has taken offence to her question, she suddenly looked at him with fearful eyes and felt herself start to panic.

"You're right, girl," he continued, "I don't have to help you. You know where the door is."

He gestured to the door, watching her pointedly.

"Hopefully, you are not a stupid girl."

Her hood fell as she shook her head pleadingly. She did not care how desperate for help she seemed, and she forced herself to apologise.

"I-I'm not, I am not a stupid girl, I pray you took no offence to my idle comment. But I ask, could you please go over your plan again, my Lord, only to bring peace to my mind."

The man sighed loudly, looking at her still.

"Eruanna Snow needs to _disappear_ ," he told her slowly.

She nodded.

"You'll need a new name, new personality, new back story, new appearance. You are not Eruanna Snow anymore, she no longer exists, girl. I will say that I caught you trying to escape, killed you because you tried to fight back, the wolf bitch that you are, and then I dumped your body somewhere... Then we will wed."

It was difficult for her to swallow and even more difficult for her to nod. She had managed to force herself to forget that final detail, but at the sudden reminder, she felt sick, an acidy taste filling her mouth.

"I-okay..." It was barely an utter and her eyes remained trained on her hands. As much as she despised the idea of marrying him, she knew it would keep her safe.

"Start thinking," The Hound said, standing up. He walked to the area where the bed was and lining the wall to the left on the bed were two wooden wardrobes.

He nodded towards her bag and then pointed to the smaller wardrobe.

"You can put your shit in this one."

She saw a small dust cloud appear when he opened the wardrobe and when he closed the door again, a lumpy looking pillow and a brown blanket were piled in his arms.

"I only have one bed. You'll have to sleep on the floor"

She nodded again.

 _Welcome home, indeed._

#

Moonlight had begun to flood the house through the dirty window as night approached. The house was dark. Eruanna shivered; she yearned for a fire. Her cloak was still heavy on her shoulders and she sat at the table, looking at her embroidery in her lap.

She was alone.

Shortly after he had brought her to his house, The Hound had gone back to the castle and he was to return any moment.

Before the man had left, he had briefly explained what happened to her father and it had plagued Eruanna's mind since.

It confused her that The Hound was helping her but she knew better than to question him. After all, he was right. No one else would ever help her. In truth, she was exceptionally grateful for his protection, but also scared of him, after how he had treated her.

She still could not fathom what prompted his behaviour in the corridor that night but the stink of alcohol on his breath suggested a cause. He had scared her that night, with his angry threats and his rough actions.

He had also mentioned that King Robert had passed away, and Eruanna felt a terrible weight on her shoulders that was not her cloak. She now felt bad for praying for his death to come but the man was clearly suffering and he was now with the Gods.

She sighed, looking at the heart tree on the piece of silk in her lap. Eruanna missed Winterfell. She missed the snow on her windowsill, and the cold, fresh wind. She missed seeing the direwolves in the snow and she missed her brothers and sisters.

The thread was soft underneath her fingers as she ran her hand over her creation. The moment The Hound burst into her chamber that morning, she was in the process of adding her own direwolf under the tree.

A noise from the staircase leading up to the house caused her to look to the door uneasily, and she prayed that it was only The Hound and not someone else.

Luckily, her prayers were answered as, a moment later, the hulking man stepped through the door. He acknowledged her with no more than a low grunt and set a crumpled paper bag down on the table. From it came a warm, almost sweet smell.

"Are you hungry?" He rasped at her.

She rubbed her neck gently as she replied, "I- I did not eat earlier, my Lord."

He nodded towards the bag.

"Picked up a few bits, bread and fruit; didn't know if you could cook–"

"I can," she interjected quickly with a nod, "I can cook."

"You can?" His heavy brow was raised in surprise as he peered at her.

She loved cooking.

Often, when she was in Winterfell, she would come across recipes in books, and she would copy them all out. Then, whenever she could, she would sneak down to the kitchens and get one of the kitchen maids to help her make it. Though her father did not approve of it, she knew he enjoyed the little meals she made him.

"Very well, girl. There're all sorts of shit in there, help yourself."

The man sat down loudly and Eruanna drew the bag closer to her to further explore what it contained.

The bread in the bag was still warm and its aroma was sweet to Eruanna's nose. Behind that, there were a few apples, and some vegetables. She stood up and picked up the bag, making her way over to the kitchen area. She could tell from the thin layer of dust on all the surfaces that this area had rarely been used.

"May I?" she asked him, looking towards the small fireplace.

She pretended not to notice his hesitation as he gave her permission.

#

They ate in a deafeningly awkward silence. The soup was warm and flavoursome and pride swelled in her chest at how delicious her meal had turned out. As she finished her bread, she glanced at him, to attempt to gauge his enjoyment of the meal. But the man's face was expressionless and betrayed little emotion.

His armour had been removed and he was now wearing a tunic and breeches. The size of the man intimidated her a lot, she admitted to herself. He was brawny, the movement of his muscles visible through his tunic as he ate.

She cleared her throat softly to cut through the uncomfortable silence and looked at him shyly.

"I hope the meal pleased you, my Lord..." It came out as a whisper but it was clear from his snort of a response that he heard her.

"Well, I ate it, didn't I?" As soon as The Hound finished, he stood up abruptly and walked over to his bed.

Eruanna piled his empty bowl on top of hers and took them to the basin, setting them down inside.

There was still some hot water left that she did not use for the soup so she brought it over to the basin.

The water was hotter than she would have preferred and she noticed the tips of her fingers going pink as she washed the dirty dishes.

Once she was finished, she turned around, only to be greeted by the sight of The Hound undressing.

With a sharp intake of breath, she instantly directed her gaze down to the floor, cheeks blazing.

She forced herself to think of anything else, to try and will the blush away.

Only when she heard the creak of his bed did she dare to look up.

She frowned slightly when she saw him in his bed; he was a great mound, covered in old furs, and she thought it rude of him to not even greet her goodnight.

From the wardrobe which her things were now in, she took her sleeping shift and made her way to the separate room in which the bathtub and chamber pot were.

The tub was larger than normal, but she expected that this was because The Hound found it difficult to fit into the average sized baths.

As Eruanna changed into her nightclothes, her eyes found the dirty mirror beside the bath. Her hair was knotty as she dragged her fingers through it, tying it into a thick plait.

Once she was changed, she left the bathroom with her dress neatly in her arms and took it to the wardrobe to put it away.

The man did not even move to see what she was doing.

Then, she laid the lumpy pillow down on the floor. The blanket was rough and worn out but Eruanna pulled it over her as she sat down on the hard ground.

Before she lay down to sleep, she closed her eyes as she did every night, clasped her hands tightly, and prayed harder than she ever had before.

* * *

 ** _AN: I hope you enjoyed that chapter! It was honestly SUCH a pain to write, and I'm still not fully impressed with it..._**

 ** _What are your thoughts regarding the whole marriage thing?_**  
 ** _And thoughts on the plot and characters? I really hope you don't see Eruanna as a Mary Sue, and I hope you find Sandor's characterisation accurate._**

 ** _I'll try and update as soon as possible but exams are approaching so I make no promises!_**

 ** _Please, leave a comment or give a fave as it makes my day!_**

 ** _Thank you for reading!_**


	5. Find it Hard to Sit With Me Tonight?

_**Sandor**_

As Sandor Clegane emerged from the bathroom with his hair combed strategically over the left part of his face, he noticed the girl was still asleep on the floor; her hair would have been wild on the pillow beneath her if it was not for the plait she wore. The sunlight spilled through the window as dawn began to break and the sound of her soft breathing was all that could be heard until Sandor began to don his armour.

The loud clanks of the metal caused the girl to begin stirring and, as he dressed, she turned onto her back, easing out of her slumber. Sandor did not notice her wake until he heard her sit up, turning to see her rubbing her tired eyes.

As her eyes found him, Sandor saw her draw the blanket up to her chest, clutching it there.

"Good morning, my Lord," the girl uttered after a brief hesitation.

He nodded curtly in response, buckling his sword belt. The girl started to stand up, pushing her plait back as she bent over to pick her bedding off of the floor.

As he pulled on his gloves, Sandor watched her folding the blanket. She wore a look of discomfort, undoubtedly due to the silence in the house and her night on the hard floor. She placed the blanket at the foot of his bed and then began to make his bed, carefully pulling the furs up.

"You should cut your hair," he said, watching her.

She looked at him with knitted brows, her hands stilling.

"Pardon, my Lord?" Her voice was quiet.

"Cut it. It is the best way to change your appearance." After walking to the kitchen area, he found a pair of old shears and placed them on the table.

The girl looked reluctant to comply, and she eyed the shears warily, her long plait hanging behind her like a tail.

Sandor scoffed.

"It is just hair, girl. It will grow back."

The girl paused as if she was going to reply but apparently she thought better of it and instead continued to make his bed.

Picking up his helm, Sandor walked towards the door.

"I will be back sometime in the evening. Do not do anything stupid, little bird. You might regret it."

"Of course not, my Lord," the girl responded, bowing her head slightly,

"I would not dream of it."

Sandor wrenched the door open and stepped out without another word, shutting the door behind him.

As he walked down the stairs, a part of him had no idea why he took in the girl. The girl was right, she was most certainly a burden.

A burden that could get him killed.

He had half a mind to return up the stairs and drag her out by the hair, leaving her on the streets to fend for herself. But a part of him would not let him do that to her. As strange as it was, he felt a twisted empathy of sorts for her, and the Seven be damned, he felt compelled to help her.

But he felt a fucking fool for ordering her to wed him. He did not even think before suggesting marriage, and the girl actually agreed to it! Of course, he only suggested it because he knew that marriage would keep him out of the Kingsguard, but he had no idea why the little bird agreed to it. She must really have wanted protection if she was willing to agree to marry him, he thought, making his way to the Red Keep. The last thing he wanted was to make a damn commitment to some bastard he barely knew, just to keep his cloak anything but white and some girl safe. What he really wanted right now was a flagon of wine and a whore.

Eruanna was nothing more than a child; the girl got upset over having to cut her hair, for gods sake! Given her birth status, it seemed to him that the girl had become a little bird who only knew how to chirp her courtesies, and, in all honesty, he did not blame her, because a polite bastard, though not loved very much, was more loved than a rude bastard. It was her way of survival, he suspected.

His thoughts were ceased when he reached the King's bedchamber, and he saw that Ser Meryn Trant stood at guard. With a nod, Ser Meryn left so Sandor could take his post.

#

"Ser Barristan Selmy," The Queen Regent's voice echoed through the Great Hall.

Sandor watched the man step forward and kneel before the throne.

"Your Grace, I am yours to command."

"Rise, Ser Barristan," she said, and he obeyed. The older man stood in his armour, looking towards the Queen Regent.

"You may remove your helm," Cersei told him, and he complied. "You have served the Realm long and faithfully. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look back with pride on your many years of service."

A deep frown instantly formed on his face, his helm in his hands.

"Your Grace, the Kingsguard is a sworn brotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death relieves us of our sacred trust."

"Whose death, Ser Barristan? Yours or your King's?" was her icy retort.

"You let my father die. You're too _old_ to protect anybody," the King interjected, leering at the man before him.

The feeble voice of Grand Maester Pycelle stole the attention of the hall as he addressed Ser Barristan.

"The Council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

The shock was apparent on the Knight's face.

Sandor watched silently.

"The man who profaned his blade with the blood of the King he had sworn to defend!"

"Careful, Ser," Cersei warned.

"We have nothing but gratitude for your long service, good Ser. You shall be given a stout Keep beside the sea, with servants to look after your every need," the Maester told him.

All eyes turned to Selmy.

"A hall to die in and men to bury me," the man retorted, throwing his helm down.

"I am a Knight. I shall die a Knight."

His armour joined his helm, clattering loudly on the floor.

"A naked Knight, apparently."

Littlefinger's jape earned a ripple of laughter from the council.

Suddenly, with the speed of lightning, the Knight drew his sword, his face screwed up in anger. The Kingsguard were quick to respond and their swords were drawn, the hiss of steel echoing.

"Even now I could cut through the five of you like carving a cake!" Ser Barristan shouted, staring coldly at the men he once proudly called brothers.

His sword hit the ground with a harsh clang.

"Here, boy! Melt it down and add it to the others."

The Council watched Ser Barristan, the surprise of the people plain on their faces.

With what little dignity he had left, the Knight turned away and walked out of the hall.

As a buzz of chatter filled the hall, the Maester cleared his throat to bring the attention back.

"If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence."

The hall was quiet for a few long moments.

"Your Grace."

Sandor was not the only person surprised when Sansa Stark's voice disrupted the silence.

"Come forward, My Lady," the King said.

The girl shuffled forward with small nervous steps.

"The Lady Sansa of House Stark."

The girl was still young, not much older than thirteen or fourteen, Sandor wagered. Her red hair was styled neatly in the southern style but her face looked dreary as if she had not slept for a while. There was no denying that she was a very pretty girl, with a feminine, highborn face.

"Do you have some business for the King and the Council, Sansa?" Cersei Lannister asked.

"I do." She lowered herself carefully to her knees.

"As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was Hand of the King."

 _A little bird, just like her sister._

It did not surprise him how similar the girls were to one another, though, as they grew up together. But where Sansa Stark had confidence and eloquence, Eruanna Snow was shy and reserved.

From his left, Sandor heard Littlefinger's voice.

"Do you deny your father's crime?"

The girl looked up.

"No, My Lords. I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my Lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him! He never wanted to be Hand until the King asked him. They must have lied to him... Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!" A pleading tone had slipped into her voice and her blue eyes shone with tears.

"He said I wasn't the King. Why did he say that?" Joffrey spoke slowly, eyes narrowed, scrutinising her.

"He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn't himself. Otherwise, he never would have said it."

The look that Joffrey gave to Maester Pycelle did not go amiss to Sandor; he thought it smart of the girl to mention the milk of the poppy.

"A child's faith... Such sweet innocence," Lord Varys said, his soft voice tinkling in the silence of the hall. "And yet they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes."

"Treason is treason!" Pycelle interrupted, his agitation poorly hidden.

"Anything else?" King Joffrey asked his betrothed.

"If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness, Your Grace."

Sandor saw Sansa Stark's pleading eyes watching the King; it was a silent plea, begging Joffrey to agree. The hall was once again engulfed in silence, every man and woman waiting for the King's response.

"Your sweet words have moved me," Joffrey declared. "But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I am the King... Or there'll be no mercy for him." His voice was as sharp as steel, cutting through the girl's decorous demeanour.

"He will," Sansa responded with a solemn nod.

* * *

 _ **Eruanna**_

Eruanna stared hard at her reflection, her fist tight around the shears.

She felt silly for not wanting to cut her hair, after all, the Hound was right; it would grow back eventually. Looking into the filthy mirror, she appreciated how long her hair was. It reached her hipbone, lightly skimming her backside, like a black cape. Growing up, she would always imagine that she had hair like her mothers, and she often wondered whether her mother's hair curled the way that hers did. She remembered when Lady Catelyn sat Sansa on her knee to plait her hair for her; the following evening, Eruanna sat in her chamber for hours, working her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to replicate the style on herself. Now, her hair was soft as she twirled it around her finger like an ebony snake, and she felt herself pleading not to cut it. It gave her comfort, to be wrapped in her hair like a fur blanket or a warm embrace. For as long as she could remember, she wore her hair long; it was a part of her, a part of her mother and a part of who she was.

But then she remembered that the man who had told her to cut it was also the man who was helping her. He was offering her shelter and protection, and if he had asked her to cut her hair, the least she could do was comply.

It was the polite thing to do.

And Eruanna was a polite girl.

With a decisive nod, she raised the cold, metal shears to the junction between her neck and shoulders, whispering a quiet prayer.

Eruanna gathered some strands of her hair into a bunch, running her fingers through it to smoothen it. Steadying her hand, she watched herself in the mirror as she lined the shears with her shoulders, pulling the hair taunt with her other hand. With the gentlest amount of pressure, she closed the shears around the strands and suddenly the hair she held in her hand came loose. Eyes wide, the sight she saw in the mirror surprised her. The part she had cut now sat at her collarbones, the ends a harsh line. After a painful swallow, she placed the loose hair into the basin, so she could continue to cut her hair.

She worked in complete silence; the only noise to be heard was the snipping and clipping of the shears. As the basin began to fill with her hair, she felt a queer lightness as she moved her head. Half of her hair still climbed down her back, like a curling vine, settling at her hip, whereas the other half did not curl as much and felt as weightless as silk and feathers.

With the same meticulousness, she slowly repeated the process of pulling the strands, lining the shears and cutting off years worth of length, until finally, she had finished.

Watching her reflection, she peered at her hair with curious eyes, trying to get used to her new look. It was barely long enough for her to braid, and it made her look very different. Where her face once looked long, it was now framed by her hair, her cheekbones appearing a lot more prominent. Though it looked fairly nice, it felt strange to Eruanna and she did not like it much; her neck felt cold and she longed for her hair back.

As she gathered the locks of black hair from the sink into her hands with a soft sigh, she caught sight of a spider's web spun at the corner of the dirty mirror. Every surface in the house seemed to be covered in a thin blanket of dust, webs spun in every crevice, everything disordered with no proper place. It was no place to live. But it was her home now and she did not wish to live in an untidy home. Besides, she figured that it would please the Hound to come home to a tidy house.

She left the bathroom and threw her hair away before going to the kitchen cupboard to find an old rag or anything she could use to clean up.

After rummaging through the cupboards and drawers, she found an array of cloths, pots, and brushes; although they looked old, she could tell they were rarely used.

Eruanna set up the small fire in the kitchen and then changed into a plain brown dress and slipped her shoes on so she could collect some water from the well down the stairs. If she was going to do this, she was going to do this properly.

#

Crouching over the kitchen fire, she inhaled deeply as she stirred the pot. Now that the curtains were soaking in the hot water of the tub, the sun shone brightly through the clean glass of the window. She wasn't sure whether the Hound liked carrot soup but she had taken a gamble and decided to make it with the carrots he had brought home the previous day.

Eruanna had spent the last hours cleaning the Hound's house. After dusting every surface, she took the sheets and washed them, then hung them downstairs to dry. She had then filled a bucket with warm soapy water and scrubbed the dirty dishes until her hands were pink and the pots and plates sparkled. Then, her efforts went to organising the cupboards and drawers and she threw all the old empty bottles out. The bathroom, mirrors, and windows did not take too long to clean and by the time she had taken the curtains down, the water had boiled so she could start cooking. Now, the house looked and smelt clean and she looked around proudly. She hoped the Hound would like it.

It meant a lot to Eruanna that people be happy with her. Anything her brothers and sisters would do, Eruanna would have to try thrice as hard to gain her father's attention. Because of her birth status, she ranked below her father's trueborn children in his eyes, and though she longed for affection from her father, she rarely got it. That was the reason she made such an effort to please her father. She loved to make people happy; the sparkle in their eyes when they were pleased with her was the greatest reward for Eruanna. She wondered whether the Hound would be pleased with her, though she doubted _his_ eyes would sparkle.

 _Maybe I am a fool to trust him..._

A series of dull thuds from the staircase told Eruanna that the subject of her thoughts was returning home at that moment. She wondered why he was home so early. Was he checking on her? Did he think she would try and escape?

Straightening up, she removed the pot of soup from the fire and placed it on the table before quickly extinguishing the small flames she cooked over. She managed to steal a quick glance around the house, checking it one last time, before she heard the front door open.

"Good afternoon, my Lord," she said to him, one of her hands curling around her other. In her head, she sounded confident but it came out no more than a pathetic whisper— she could have kicked herself.

The man eyed her curiously for a long moment and she felt herself grow hot under his stare. Had she done something wrong? All of a sudden, she remembered her hair, or lack thereof, and nodded hastily.

"I cut it, just as you asked..."

The man nodded slightly and looked around the house. As she felt the corners of her mouth turn up, she forced herself to contain her proudness and eagerness as she waited for his reaction to her hard work. But, to her surprise, he said nothing and sat down at the table.

Her forehead creased and her brows were drawn together as her face fell. Though he was not a particularly loquacious man, Eruanna thought that he was being unusually quiet, and she found it rather rude that he didn't comment on her efforts.

To hide her immense disappointment, she rearranged her face into what she hoped appeared as a nonchalant expression before clearing her throat softly.

"Would you like to eat, my Lord?"

When the man nodded, she filled two bowls with the warm soup and placed one of them in front of him. As she went to get him a spoon, she wondered why he had not spoken to her yet. She was afraid that he was angry at her for moving and touching his things without his permission. Gods, she knew it looked too eager, and it was too soon; she hadn't been there very long yet.

She drew the soft flesh of the inside of her cheek between her teeth as she returned to the table and placed the spoon beside his bowl.

"I hope you enjoy it," she muttered meekly.

The chair made an odd scraping sound as she sat down opposite him to eat her meal.

She glanced around the house as she started to eat in silence. Though it seemed her hard work did not impress him, she was very proud of it and she thought she had done well. It was upsetting that he did not appreciate all the effort she had put in.

She stole a glimpse at the man who still had not uttered a word. Opposite Eruanna, he ate in silence and acted as though she was not there. She found it oddly frustrating.

"I thought about what you said yesterday," she started, as she paused her eating to fill two glasses with water from the jug.

The man did not move but instead looked from his bowl to set his eyes upon her. Under his stare, she found it difficult to look at him, so she directed her gaze back to the bowl.

"What about 'Annie'?" she asked him.

"Where are you from, Annie?" he replied after a moment. A small part of her felt relieved that he was communicating with her. It meant that he was not that angry at her.

She paused to think.

"I am not sure... I could be smallfolk from the village or I could claim to be some third-born daughter from a minor house, although I'm not sure which house..."

"Smallfolk is more realistic," he said with a brief nod.

That would have surprised Eruanna if she had not known better, for most men would prefer to claim that they married a woman from a noble house, rather than some random village girl.

Suddenly, at the very thought of the marriage, dread filled the pit of her stomach. She wondered when he planned for them to wed.

She bit her lip gently before looking across the table at him.

"When will we marry?" she whispered.

It was difficult for her to say that aloud, but she forced herself to.

The Hound was still as a statue for a long moment, as if he was deep in thought.

Then, all of a sudden, he looked at her.

"Within the fortnight, sooner rather than later."

She lowered her gaze to her bowl with a pang of panic. Did he mean that by the end of this week she would be a married woman?

She swallowed hard.

"It is not too soon? Only, it might seem unrealistic..."

She was grasping for straws and she knew that he knew it.

"What is the difference between a day and a month? If it is going to be done, then it might as well be done sooner so it be gotten out of the damned way."

She watched her bowl as she ate, and she had nothing to respond to him with. He was right, of course, but she couldn't help feeling uncomfortable with the idea of marrying him.

A thick silence surrounded them after that; a heavy, undiffused tension, brewed in the air.

"How did you learn to cook?" he asked her, breaking the silence as if it was a piece of glass.

"I read books with recipes in, my Lord. I tried them out occasionally," she replied, a little surprised by his question.

"It will be easier to find work considering you know how to read," the Hound told her, picking up his glass.

"Work?" She frowned slightly. "Where will I work?"

With a shrug of his shoulders, the man put his glass back down.

"A farm? A tavern? I don't bloody know."

"I don't know either..." She continued to eat, looking at her bowl.

As Eruanna finished her meal, her thoughts suddenly wandered to how her father was fairing. It could not be nice, to be forced into a cell, cold and hungry. She looked up at the man across from her.

"Is my father okay?" Eruanna asked, her voice small.

He paused and she saw his sinuous shoulders move as the man sighed.

"He is being kept in the dungeons still," came his gruff reply. "King Joffrey is awaiting a reply from your Stark brother to swear an oath of fealty."

As he picked up his glass, Eruanna frowned, lines of trouble forming on her face.

"My father has wronged no one, I do not understand..." She stared down at her empty bowl.

The man returned his glass to the table with a loud bang.

"He conspired against the King. Do you expect the Queen Regent to be happy with that?"

"No... No, of course not, my Lord. But he is a good man. A fair man," she told him.

"Do you think the Lannisters care whether your father is a 'good man'? Because let me tell you, little bird, they couldn't give two shits about it." His tone was rough and cold and Eruanna felt the hair on the backside of her neck stand on end. She swallowed harshly and gave a weak nod, eyes cast down at her hands.

It was silent for a long tense moment before the chair scraped loudly as the large man stood up.

"I have to return to the Red Keep," he said, making his way to the door after picking up his helm.

Glancing up, she watched him grasp the handle and pull open the door, and then saw him pause. Without turning to face her, he spoke.

"Make sure you have not put anything in the cupboard below the basin. That is where my bottles go... And do not forget to put the curtains back up."

And, with that, the Hound disappeared down the stairs.

* * *

 ** _Sandor_**

As Sandor entered the house, he noticed that the sheets that were hanging downstairs earlier had now been taken back upstairs. He lumbered up the staircase and opened the door with a firm grasp.

He was a man who was not oft surprised, yet what he saw caused him to become slightly taken aback.

Upon his bed was the girl, curled slightly on her side and sound asleep. She was clad in her shift, the lean curve of her hip barely visible through the thin white fabric. Beneath her, the furs were still tucked neatly from where she had made it in the morning, and beside her head lay an old open book, its pages fanned out in the air. For this reason, Sandor assumed that the girl must have fallen asleep whilst reading.

He took his seat at the dining table. Though knew he should have woken Eruanna and told her to move, instead, he merely watched her. Because she had cut it, a few whispers of hair fell into the girl's face. When he arrived back at the house earlier, the sight of the girl surprised him. He did not expect that she would actually listen and cut her hair yet it seemed that the girl was a compliant little bird. Though he thought that her black ringlets were nice enough, he preferred her with shorter hair, as her face was not as hidden.

Not that he cared.

Watching the girl deep in her slumber, he noticed that her lips were parted ever so slightly and he could barely hear her soft breaths as if she was whispering a prayer. The creases of her naïve worries had smoothed from her young face and she rested in a state of pure oblivion, perfectly unaware of the happenings that surrounded her. She had lit no candles before he arrived, so the room was flooded solely with moonlight; the soft, pale light illuminated the fine contours of her face and it caused her to glow in the darkness. Sandor could have sworn that, for that brief instant, he believed in the Seven, for, in front of his eyes, he did not see the Stark girl, but instead he saw the Maiden, innocence and purity flowing like blood through every vein of the girl's body. He watched the girl's breast rise and fall softy as she slept.

Were he to be a different man, he might have found the sight charming, even beautiful. But he was who he was, and something bid him turn away.

As he reclined in his seat slightly, his eyes directed elsewhere, Sandor's thoughts led to the last time there was a woman on his bed. It was for an entirely different reason, and she was an entirely different woman. Where that wench had been a woman grown, with curves and tits and hair like fire, the girl whom now lay on his bed possessed the body of a young girl still and, like a feather-light waif, it was almost as if she was delicate enough to break. As he thought about the girl more, he found himself wondering if she had ever been touched by anyone before.

Realising where his thoughts were leading, Sandor stood abruptly to get a drink. He opened the cupboard, ready to rummage through. Yet, to his surprise, the bottles were lined in two neat rows, the old ones disposed of and no longer cluttering the cupboard.

He shook his head and took a bottle before returning to the table. When he had returned home at noon, it was because he had realised what a massive mistake this was. He was going to take her back to the castle, or send her off to her brother in Winterfell. He had planned to tell her that she could no longer stay here, that she had to leave. And then suddenly, he had opened the bloody door and there before his eyes was his house, yet it was tidied! The girl had not only cut her hair like he had asked but she had also taken it upon herself to completely clean his house and prepare dinner for him. Because she had cleaned the windows, the sun shone through brightly and the house almost sparkled. He had noticed her waiting for a reaction, for his approval. She waited for his approval as if his opinion mattered, and she wanted to impress him.

 _Gods, she must be desperate._

When he had continued to stay silent as they ate, he hoped that the little bird would understand what was going on and pick up on it, but then she had gone and brought up her new alias, Annie, and the damned marriage. And suddenly, Sandor found himself suggesting a date for the wedding. For _his_ wedding.

Now, as the sour liquid burned going down his throat, he sighed deeply, suppressing a shudder. The relief was instant. Sandor was hunched over the table, eyes shut for a brief moment to savour the minute pleasure he gained from the drink. Morose lines were etched deep into his face, and his fist was tight around the bottle.

However, it seemed his pleasure was short lived because a sudden creaking pulled him out of it. He opened his eyes to seek the source of his distraction, and upon the bed was the girl, sitting up, rubbing her eyes with small fists.

Eruanna's tired eyes grew wide when she noticed him at the table and she frantically scurried off of his bed.

"I- my Lord, I apologise, I must have fallen asleep," she stuttered. She ran a hand through her hair and he saw a brief look of surprise appear on her face when her hand fell through the air earlier than expected.

The girl quickly schooled her features back to normal and she looked down respectfully, waiting for him to say something.

Sandor, let out a small grunt in response and continued to drink, trying to ignore his previous thoughts about the girl.

When she picked her book up and went over to the window, he noticed that she had lined the couple of books she had brought with her along the windowsill, all neat, sorted in height order. The girl tucked the book away before retrieving her bedding from the foot of his bed. On the floor, she placed the old blanket and pillow before settling down on top. Sandor drank deeply, all the while watching her. He saw the girl close her eyes and bow her head as if he was not there, clasping her little hands together. Then he heard her murmuring softly, tiny whispers of prayers reaching his ears. He watched her with a cruel mocking expression, but his eyes displayed a strange curiosity.

 _There are no gods,_ he wanted to tell her. _Your gods can't save you._

* * *

 _ **Authors Note:** I'm so so sorry for the delay of the chapter! I've been extremely busy, as my final exams are taking place for the duration of the next six weeks. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the chapter, it was stressful to write, especially because I wanted to update sooner. There will probably be a short wait (end of June approx.) before the next chapter is uploaded! Hope you enjoyed this chapter though!_

 _Title: Wasting my Young Years - London Grammar_

 _So, there are a few things that I just quickly want to address._

 _Firstly, a couple of people have mentioned that Eruanna is very similar to Sansa, and I don't dispute that. However, I think, realistically most highborn women in Westeros would have behaved similar to Sansa, as that was expected. She's also very different to Sansa in various aspects, seeing as Sansa is a lot more certain of herself, whereas you can see that Eruanna's birth status has affected how she behaves and how uncertain she is, but you have to bear with me as this is only chapter five! The story I've planned so far spans over three years so a lot is going to happen and you will hopefully begin to notice that she isn't a Sansa 2.0._

 _Secondly, the 'Little Bird' thing._  
 _Like I've mentioned previously, initially I didn't want to use the nickname for Eruanna however I doubted that Sandor would have called her by her name at the start and I thought that repeating 'girl' every time he spoke to her could get a little repetitive. And it worked in harmony with the fic title ('Canines and Canaries' literally translates to 'Dog and Bird'.) Also, the LB thing caused me to think of a good idea for later on. As an author, I'm allowed to take creative liberties when writing this fic, and I know, as a SanSan shipper myself, that it's difficult to read an OC fic but if you've enjoyed it so far, then I ask that you put your trust in me because I promise you that the plot thickens! As much as I wish I could skip to the good bits, I have to write these more mundane chapters first. I write because I enjoy it but I also write because I want you to enjoy it, so please let me know if you did enjoy it!_

 _And finally, I think I have finally found the perfect_ faceclaim _for Eruanna! The actress is called Olivia Hussey and if you look at her in Romeo and Juliet, you'll see exactly how I imagine her. (Alternatively, you could just visit my pinterest board here for more about Eruanna.)_

 _Anyway, sorry for that ramble! Again, I hope you enjoyed it, and just a reminder that the next chapter will be delayed because exams._  
 _Please please please **leave a comment with your thoughts** and a fave/follow and let me know what you think of the story and characters so far! _

_Until next time!_


	6. Stuck in Her Daydream

_**Eruanna**_

Eruanna was perched at the table, and her dark eyes were downcast to her plate whilst she ate her breakfast quietly. Upon her gentle face was a subtle absence, as if she was far away in her thoughts, just anywhere that was not here. Though it was as silent as it always was, she did not seem to mind as much today. Instead, she removed herself from the awkward tension that normally filled the air and had taken leave in her thoughts.

"Today."

A voice burst into her thoughts and she jumped at the address.

"Pardon, my Lord?" she asked him, looking up at The Hound. She saw him set his jaw in what looked like annoyance but thankfully, he did not say anything.

"I will return early, and we will make our way to the ceremony. Make sure you are ready."

Her entire body stiffened when she heard what he said; her shoulders tensed up and her muscles grew tight. Composing herself after a moment, she gave him a slow nod, taking a thick swallow.

"Of course, Ser. Is there anything I should do...?"

The man shook his head as he finished his meal.

"No. Just make sure you are ready on time."

Eruanna nodded and looked down at her lap. When she heard the Hound stand, she stood too, to clear his dishes. As she collected the plates, he walked to the door, and as usual, he left without another word.

#

Clad in the nicest satin slip she had brought with her, Eruanna stood before the mirror, doing her hair with shaking hands. On either side of her head, she had made two small braids, and she fastened them at the back of her head so they contained her ringlets. The rest of her hair she kept loose, hoping that it would stay behind her shoulders despite its short length.

Though the bathroom was warm, she could not keep her poor hands from trembling as she threaded tiny white flowers into the plaits in her hair. She had found them outside the previous day when she was picking flowers to put in a vase on the Hound's dinner table.

Beside the towel, she had hung her dress. She stared at it through the mirror. Funnily enough, it was actually the first dress he had ever seen her in, when they first met in Winterfell.

 _Your wedding dress._

Dismissing the thought as quickly as it came, the young maiden continued with her hair until she was pleased with its look, and then made her way over and carefully took the dress down.

She stepped into the skirts of her gown and pulled it to her waist, fastening it. After that, she slipped her arms through the sleeves and began to lace the dress up, the lining of the dress like ice against her warm skin. Even though she was dreading the day, she still wanted to make an effort.

After all, she would only get _one_ wedding day.

As she laced her gown up, Eruanna realised that it was significantly looser than it was all those months ago; she must have lost weight whilst staying in Kings Landing, yet despite this, the dress seemed to suffocate her more than ever. She exhaled and prayed quietly, closing her eyes.

When she was younger, it was common practice for the young girl to lie on her bed dreaming of today with such eager longing; at the tender age of eleven, she had envied her present self with a burning jealousy. She had always imagined that it would be the best day of her life, the day she married the man of her dreams, whom she would spend the rest of her days with, and with whom she would have her children and make her memories. The day that she was defined by her husband and not by her birth status. The day she no longer had to be a Snow.

Only a fortnight ago, she was certain that, with her father's blessing, she would be marrying a handsome sire, gallant and golden. In her head, his face was beautiful, his smile warm, and upon his head was spun gold, hair that sparkled under the light. Whether she loved him or not at the start, it would have been no impossible feat to learn to love him. When they wed, she would have worn a pink and ivory gown with her maiden cloak on her shoulders and would have had a crown of flowers in her long hair, and he would have been clad in the most handsome tunic, gold and green, with a grand cloak, and then, with a kiss, they would have pledged their everlasting love to one another. _This_ was the man she was meant to marry, the man who would give her beautiful golden children and give her happiness and love and give her the world and more.

She wasn't meant to marry _him_.

The meticulously detailed images she had carefully painted on the canvas of her brain of her precious golden family suddenly began to distort and her beautiful golden dreams twisted into a horrific, mutilated image of her husband-to-be. In the dark haze of her mind, he was more beast than man, with a body better suited to a bull than that of a man, and a face that would frighten the Stranger himself. From the scars on his terrifying face, oozed blood and they suddenly appeared to be on fire all over again, great slashes of orange and blazing red filling her head.

Then she opened her eyes.

She found herself in the mirror in front of her and took a deep breath to steady herself. With a shake of her head, she scolded herself for filling her mind with child's folly. She had become carried away with her silly little thoughts. It was foolish of her to dream of her golden love and she thought it terribly ungrateful of her to think such horrid things about Ser Sandor. He was doing her a favour and the least she could be was thankful. She did not have to love him, she only had to fulfil her duty as a wife.

 _You can do that much, at least._

At last, she was ready and Eruanna took one last look at herself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom, her hands clasped together tight. The rest of the house was submerged in a deafening silence and the quiet blared in her ears as she scanned the room. Standing in the doorway like a statue, her feet were too heavy to move. It felt as though there was pressure growing within her chest and it was becoming difficult for her to breathe.

Finally, she forced herself to move from the doorway because she was certain that the ground would have swallowed her whole if she did not.

The bed was too soft beneath her when she sat down, so instead she moved to the table and sat down on one of the chairs, the hard wood providing some stability beneath her. She needed stability to keep her in reality.

Her hands were joined together, and she shut her eyes, praying once again. The gods would keep her safe. If it were not for her father's insistence for her marriage, she would have joined the Faith and would have given her life to the Gods. Too many times had she heard that bastards were born of lust and lies, too many times had she been eyed as if she was a wanton whore. She had no desire to behave like that, she had always behaved like a proper lady. Her faith was where her strength was, she knew the Gods would help her.

#

She followed him, step by step, thought after thought.

One step. _You are finally going to be a married woman._

One step. _Yes, you will be called the 'Lady Hound'._

One step. _But you will be married just like Father wants._

One step. _You are going to be married to this man for the rest of your life. His prisoner._

One step. _You could run. Just run away, if you went fast enough, he would never catch you—_

"Well?" she heard his voice say.

Eruanna looked towards him blankly, drawing her lip between her teeth, her mind still a haze from her thoughts.

As she opened her mouth to respond, the Hound cut her off with a contemptuous grunt.

"Never mind, girl. It is through here." He nodded in front of them to a small dingy place; to Eruanna it seemed like a tavern or an old inn.

She blinked a few times, before nodding ever so slightly.

Inside, he led her into another room. It was dark, not in the way where there was merely a lack of light, but more as if the darkness itself was tangible, like the air carried the weight of the dark. She was uncomfortably aware of the neglect and abandonment the place had suffered and it manifested itself as a coolness which caressed her at her fingertips, at the back of her neck and behind her ears, causing her hair to stand on end. There were a few torches on the walls but they did little to light the room.

Eruanna followed the Hound further into the room and ahead, she caught sight of a man. He was older, and where he was not balding, his hair grew a dark brown, and was coarse in texture.

The Hound approached the man and they conversed lowly for a brief moment.

"Very well.." she heard the man say before he looked over at her and nodded. With a quick nod back, Eruanna lowered her gaze to the ground.

When she was beckoned forward by the man, she took a small step forward, to stand in line with The Hound. Glancing around, a movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. There were two women sat on a wooden bench, huddled together like gossiping children. Eruanna presumed they were present to act as some sort of witnesses.

She realised that the man had begun to talk and she looked up; his voice was aged and deep, yet sharp to the ear.

The septon looked to her, waiting for her to repeat the words that would bind her to The Hound for the rest of her days and her body quaked in dread.

"Father," she uttered shakily.

 _Her father was stood naked in the Grand Hall with swarms of people surrounding him. And on the Iron Throne sat King Joffrey who laughed and laughed as he watched her father._

"Smith,"

 _Ash settled on the ground around the remains of a vast castle she did not recognise. Once the fire had subsided, the chatter of the smallfolk filled the air, their hands each brandishing a tool, ready to rebuild the ruin before them._

"Warrior,"

 _The Hound was fearsome in battle, his armour splattered with blood that was not his own. With the roar of a lion, he swung his sword, and she watched his brother fall to the ground._

"Mother,"

 _In her arms were two girls, like two baby doves. The were soft and delicate, and feather light. They had her face, but the hair was not from her. They had their father's hair. She watched their tiny chests rise and fall as they slept but she heard her own voice from one's lips; her own voice, screaming "Mercy!"_

"Maiden,"

 _She was in Winterfell again, standing alone in the_ godswood _. As she prayed, she felt hands at the back of her dress, unlacing her, tugging it down her shoulders. She could not stop it, and with tears falling down her face, her eyes found the bloody stain dripping from her white dress._

"Crone,"

 _Her fingertips caressed the spines of her new books. Her father had gifted her fourteen new books, one for each of her years. They were bound with leather and had crisp pages. A bright smile adorned her face as she pulled one out, to read until she fell asleep._

"Stranger,"

 _On the floor of her chamber lay four bodies. First, a middle-aged man, with a long face and cold, glassy eyes. Next, a young girl, no more than maybe thirteen, in a yellow dress, with dark eyes. Beside her was a man, with blond hair and a smutty look. And finally, there was an infant girl, newly born and wrapped in white cloth. In the moonlight, they could have been sleeping. But she knew they were not._

"I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days." As she breathed the words, her wrists grew heavy as if she was shackled like a prisoner and she felt like someone had pulled her dress so tight that her lungs had stopped working.

The rest of the ceremony felt like a delirious dream, nothing real, all illusions. Her mind was a grey haze, echoing with wordless voices, and her nerves were on fire, every part of her sensitive to the slightest noise or movement.

And suddenly, The Hound took a step closer to her. She knew what was coming and every part of her body sunk in dread. Eruanna lifted her chin, her gaze following suit, and when her eyes met his, the cold reality hit her like a slap round the face.

But, being the dutiful girl that she was, she waited to receive him with a raised chin. And as he leant low, she closed her eyes. She could pretend he was someone else, he could be her golden knight in that moment.

Yet, as his lips brushed gently against hers, her mind could think only of him, his scars and his anger and his hatred, and when she felt the marred corner of his mouth against hers, she pulled back as if she was burned.

#

No longer was Eruanna a little girl, but a married woman and she knew exactly what that meant for her. As she sat on the bed, wringing her hands together, she wondered when The Hound would exercise his right as her husband to do as all men wished to do to their wives.

 _Will he be gentle with me?_

She had heard stories about other ladies, and how their men took them; some sounded awfully painful. Some told stories of being held against a wall, or taken from behind like a dog. She wondered whether he would do any of that to her, or whether he would just mount her the way the Septa's said men did. It was not for her pleasure, she had to remind herself, but for his. Her only duty was to part her thighs and lose her maidenhead. Eruanna wasn't sure whether any of it would feel good for her; she knew that maidens bled on their wedding night, and she doubted that would be pleasurable.

Worrying her lip between her teeth, she looked at the furs of the bed. She imagined the red stain of her maidenhead saturating the centre of the sheets.

All she knew was that tonight, she would have to lie back, close her eyes, and let him do as he pleased to her until he was done.

It sounded ridiculously simple yet the thought of it terrified her, like a shock to the very bones. Her husband was a very brawny man, tall and heavy with muscle, whereas she was light and slim and undoubtedly frangible in his arms. He could break her into two, crumble her like dust. Her body felt heavy, as if the entire weight of him was already atop her, and herself pinned down to the mattress under his body.

 _Will he kiss me again?_

After the kiss they had briefly shared, she was not sure she wished to share another with him, as it frightened her how gentle he was. Though his mouth was crude and ruined, the kiss was soft, no more than a gentle caress against her lips. That was not how a man like him was supposed to feel.

She wondered how long it would all take. Gods, she wanted it to be over right now.

All of a sudden, her stomach twisted at the thought of him putting a child inside of her. He would plant his seed deep inside of her womb and soon, soon she would have a babe growing inside of her. _His_ babe.

Under her clammy palms, the skirts of her dress were rough and warm, and within her, a dull thudding caused her to feel sick. She had wanted children for as long as she could remember, little sons and daughters of her own, but she did not want to have his children. This marriage was not real, it was only a farce, no more than a means of protection; it was convenient for both parties involved. Yet as much as it was a farce, it was the marriage that she would be trapped in for the rest of her lonely life.

She sincerely doubted that she would grow to love him and she knew that the Hound would never love her.

 _A loveless, empty, prison of a marriage._

Then her thoughts led to her father and what he would think of it all. Gods, how she wished she could go to the Red Keep and find her father, just to be with him again. Eruanna wondered when King Joffrey would let her father be free again. A thought entered her head and suddenly her chest tightened, her heart hammering against her breast.

Soon, her father would be free and he would return to Winterfell but she would be forced to stay with The Hound, with her husband and she would never get to go home —

Suddenly, his figure appeared in the doorway. She did not even hear him come up the stairs, let alone unlock and open the door. His face was cold and harsh, a furious storm raging in his silent eyes.

As soon as his eyes fell upon her, she looked away, still frightened and humiliated by her thoughts.

The movement in the house stilled for a moment and the goosebumps that covered her arms told her that he was still watching her.

"Your sister has pleaded to King Joffrey to give your father mercy," came his rasp.

Eruanna looked up in surprise, waiting for him to finish.

"The King has agreed that your father will confess his treason and beg for mercy."

He watched her as if waiting for her to respond but she merely nodded, not at all knowing what he was asking of her.

It was then that she noticed the ashen cloak draped over his shoulders like a shadow. Her dark eyes widened a fraction, and suddenly his angry demeanour made sense.

 _But a wedded man cannot join the Kingsguard_ she thought, yet she did not think to say it because it was awfully obvious from his anger that he was already aware of this.

He had married her for no reason now.


	7. If You're Still Breathing

**I realise I'm officially the WORST when it comes to updates but I hope you'll forgive the long wait as I finally upload the second part of the last chapter! (If you've forgotten what happened, you can click back to the previous chapter and remind yourself but it is your choice!) Writer's block has become the bane of my existence but after months, I finally completed this chapter! Thank you SO much for being patient.**  
 **Hope you enjoy! Let me know your thoughts in the reviews! Happy reading!**

* * *

 _ **Sandor**_

Sandor Clegane was a married man and an unhappy one at that.

A faint birdsong whistled through the air, the high notes echoing down the alley as he lumbered down it. He kept head forward, his eyes set straight, but still, his peripheral vision allowed him to catch sight of his dreaded white cloak and he clenched his jaw in fury.

After his wedding ceremony to the young girl, he had made his way back to the Red Keep to tell his Master of the 'good news'. In the Great Hall, he had found the Boy King in conversation with one Lord or another. Sandor had taken his place beside Joffrey and waited patiently, and stood like a shadow behind him, ready to protect him if need be. The fawning sycophancy that came out of the mouths of the men had sickened Sandor and he used all of his self-control to stop himself from rolling his eyes in disgust. After a little while, the boy grew bored of talking and he dismissed the Lords with a wave of his hand. The men had then bowed and left the Hall, and Sandor was relieved he no longer was forced to listen to their ridiculous words.

When the boy stood, Sandor stepped back and followed behind him as he exited the Hall. Joffrey walked with a self-righteous swagger, the rings on his white fingers glimmering in the light as a faux-pensive look had overtaken his face.

"Dog, you've always been rather loyal to us, haven't you? —No, there's no need to be modest, it is undeniable."

Sandor had just nodded, waiting for the point that was to inevitably follow.

"Yes, and I do think that loyalty deserves rewarding, I'll not let it be said that I am an unrewarding King."

 _What kind of reward can the bastard possibly give me?_

Again, he nodded, watching him as he followed behind the boy.

"As you know, my Kingsguard is lacking men, and I find that loyalty is a most desirable trait in those men who wear the white cloak."

"Of course, your Grace," Sandor replied, and, though expressionless, he had felt his pulse quicken then. This was the reason he had wed the girl; he knew what the boy was about to ask and he had an answer ready.

"Therefore I think a suitable reward for your unwavering loyalty would be a white cloak for your shoulders, Dog, wouldn't you agree?"

"Your Grace, that is a great honour. But I have to refuse it. I have taken a wife."

The shock on Joffrey's face was most apparent, his brows raised and his mouth open.

" _You_ have a wife? Where did you find a bitch for that?" he spat incredulously.

"I took a trip to the kennels, your Grace." Sandor replied, the sarcasm poorly hidden.

The conversation proceeded to the details of his marriage, to which Sandor responded with swift lies. As they continued to talk about the situation, Sandor felt his insides sink. The marriage meant nothing. The more the boy King spoke, it dawned on Sandor that Joffrey didn't care.

 _I should have bloody realised. Why did I think I could outsmart the Lions? They rid themselves of Barristan as easy as anything, despite the vows he swore. Vows, vows, vows, yet there's nothing in them._

Queerly, Joffrey, who genuinely considered the kingsguardship a reward for his men, fell for the lies of Sandor's happy marriage and therefore, despite the rule being that marriage was forbidden for a white cloak, he chose to overrule it. He had told Sandor that an annulment was not necessary and that he may join the Kingsguard as promptly as possible while keeping a wife. It was surprising to Sandor that Joffrey would do that for anyone.

 _He either pities me, or he favours me..._

 _Probably both._

So now, Sandor had a white cloak over his shoulders, a wife who hated him and a thirst for a drink. As he arrived at the top of the stairs, he set his jaw and opened the wooden door.

The girl was sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide in her thoughts; she had not noticed him yet. He opened the door wider.

Suddenly the girl's head jerked towards the door as she spotted him. After a split second, she looked away, almost as if she was ashamed.

He watched her from the doorway for a few moments and felt a strange pity for her.  
He'd pity anyone who was stuck with him.

Neither one of them made to break the silence and Sandor sensed that the girl felt an awkward tension between them.

 _Well, fuck that._

"Your sister has pleaded to King Joffrey to give your father mercy," he told her, regardless of how little she may have wished to talk to him.  
Now that she was his wife, she'd just have to put up with it.

Suddenly, she looked up at him, her dark eyes laden with desperation and surprise.

"The King has agreed that your father will confess his treason and beg for mercy," he continued when she did not respond.

After a few moments, she nodded, slowly and uncertainly. Her eyes flickered down, away from his face and settled upon something else. He could pinpoint the exact moment that she noticed the white cloak; the shock in her eyes spoke volumes. Her expression just reminded him of how much he resented what Joffrey had done and suddenly fury consumed him. When he slammed the door closed, the girl almost jumped out her skin and looked away, back to her hands.

 _Gods, she looks pathetic._

As he made his way to the cupboard to get a drink, he wondered whether she would ask about the cloak.

He doubted it.

* * *

 ** _Eruanna_**

The bell rang.

Like a herd of sheep, the smallfolk of Kingsguard had gathered and in the midst of them, Eruanna stood, waiting to see her father.

 _Of_ course _, he will beg, just as the King asked. He would put his pride aside to save his life, would he not?_

On the pulpit before the Great Sept of Baelor, the King and his companions waited. Beside the Queen Regent, stood Eruanna's pretty little sister, looking the Southron maid more and more each minute. The man they called Littlefinger also stood nearby, along with the old Maester. And then there was her husband. Her eyes found him easily; though positioned at the very back, he was difficult to miss. His face was stone hard, and she couldn't tell where he was looking. The Hound's instructions rung in her ears as she looking around.

 _"Act like one of them. You're not a Snow anymore."_

But they were all yelling and shouting, 'traitor' and 'coward', and all she wanted to do was tell them the truth, tell them how he never did anything wrong and how he had been arrested wrongly.

And then she saw him.

Two gold cloaks dragged her father through the riotous swarm, their hands gripping his arms. Like a bird, her heart soared. It had been so long since she had seen him.

 _Father_ , she wanted to shout, _Father, save me._

They were being so rough with him and she couldn't understand why anyone would want to be horrible to him. As he limped with the support of the gold cloaks, she realised that she had never seen him look so thin. His hands were bound behind his back and his hair was dirty and matted over his face, a face sprouting rough stubble. She watched him limp as they brought him out like an animal for slaughter. But it was the helplessness in his eyes that caused her to tremble. She had always known him to be such a strong, determined man, but they had beaten him down and had worn him out so much that his face was drawn with sorrow and desperation.

 _But it doesn't matter anymore. The King will give him mercy and we can all go back to Winterfell. If The Hound doesn't let me go, I'll just run away. I'll run to Winterfell–_

A hush descended on the crowd as her father was brought before the King and left to stand like a shamed man.

"I am Eddard Stark," he began, his voice weak but with conviction. He looked over the crowd and she could have sworn their eye's met for a moment.  
She wasn't sure.

"The Lord of Winterfell. And Hand of the King." He turned his head towards Sansa and Eruanna saw her nod in response. It was obvious that their father wanting nothing less than this.

"I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of Gods and Men. I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend Robert," he said, and she could feel how much it pained him to lie like this. Anyone who knew him knew that he would never– could never hurt anyone.

"I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the Throne for myself."

Eruanna shook her head, as the crowd jeered and swore.

 _None of it is the truth!_ she wished she could cry.

Suddenly, a stone was thrown violently at her father as the crowd yelled loudly and Eruanna cried out in sudden horror. Her father stumbled backwards as it collided forcefully with his face but he was caught by the Hound. Her stomach was in her throat as Ser Sandor steadied her father before shoving him forward again.

"Let the high Septon and Baelor the blessed bear witness to what I say:" her father said, as blood trickled from a gash on his face. "Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the Grace of all his gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

 _Mother's Mercy, he did it. He's free._

She smiled despite herself, thanking the Old Gods and the New.

Then the Maester stepped forward, his deep voice quivering with age.

"As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. The gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

The mob erupted with hundreds of different brutal suggestions of what should be done with her poor father, heckling and shouting.

King Joffrey raised a hand, his rings glimmering blindingly in the sunlight.

The crowd fell silent.

"My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in exile."

He would be with Jon. That is not so bad.

"And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

Though hard as Sansa pressed her lips together, Eruanna saw the hopeful smile she herself wore reflected on her little sister.

She could almost taste the bitter, cool air of Winterfell.

Joffrey spoke again.

"But they have the soft hearts of women, and as long as I am your King, treason shall _never_ go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, _bring me his head._ "

As soon as the last syllable left his lips, a roar of a thousand voices exploded but Eruanna never heard them.  
Somehow she found the Hound's eyes, begging him silently to do something, but when he looked away from her, the blood drained from her face.  
Joffrey's words echoed in her head.

And suddenly the Seven Hells had let loose.

Her body seized up, as she watched wide-eyed. She tried to scream but her jaw was locked tight and she struggled to breathe. Through blurred vision, everything was fast-paced; it was as if the Gods had turned the world upside down, and Eruanna stood motionless in the midst of the crowd, but Sansa's shrill screaming still reached her ears, as she fought in the arms of a gold cloak. Two other men grabbed her father on the King's orders and flung him forward, as the Queen Regent, with the rest of the Council, urged against it by her son's side.  
But when Joffrey shook his head, a burning agony flooded her insides.

 _Gods, have mercy!_

As Ser Ilyn drew the longsword, Eruanna wished she could close her eyes, and press her hands over them until she saw nothing but stars.

But she watched.

Eddard Stark uttered one final sentence before the longsword fell.

* * *

 ** _Sandor_**

She was as pale as the moon, with streaks of tears ruining her cheeks like scars. He recalled the way the blood had drained from her face, how her eyes were horror-stricken. Those eyes that were normally dancing with an optimistic innocence.

Those eyes that were now tainted red with the brutality she had to endure.

The girl wept silently, kneeling on the ground, the sobs wracking her body as she buried her head into the bed sheets with her arms sprawled about it; it was almost as if 'if she couldn't see it, it wasn't happening'. Every so often he would hear a stifled gasp, as the grief of a suppressed wail escaped her lip; he would hear her breath stutter as she inhaled deeply as if she was on the verge of suffocation. Sometimes it sounded like she couldn't breathe, like her anguish had caused her throat to lock, and he knew in those moments that she was reliving it in her mind. She was prostrate with shock. He noticed the white flowers still tangled in her hair from their wedding ceremony; those flowers which were once blooming with life, now dead and wilted in her hair. Once or twice, she lifted her head to push the hair away from her face; strands of it kept sticking to her wet cheeks. When she did, he saw that her face was now pink and blotchy, and her eyelids were heavy and swollen, revealing bloodshot, tearful eyes.

And despite the raw coarseness of it all, it could have been a romantic sight.

They stayed like that for hours. Sandor could think of no words to console her so he let her cry.

The sun lowered itself as if it was going to mourn as well, and as twilight approached, the house grew dense with grieving shadows.

As he returned to his seat with a bottle, the girl looked up at him for the first time since they returned home. Her eyes brimmed with venom.

"You— you let them do this. You didn't t-try to stop him," she whispered hoarsely.

Sandor scoffed though part of him was taken aback.

"What, did you expect me to punch Ser Ilyn in the face or something? You think I could have stopped Joffrey?"

"You could have _tried_!" Her shout was throaty and aggressive, but he could hear her agony resonating in every harsh syllable.

His patience was wearing thin.

With a sigh and a shake of head, he stood, and the chair scraped across the floor. She was in too much of a state for him to deal with, so Sandor decided it best to leave her to calm down for a little while, and return later.

The girl made little effort to protest as he made his way to the door and left, slamming it behind him.

But as he started down the stairs, her sobs of grief were faint through the door. He shook his head again and continued down the stairs.

#

The evening continued on and eventually, he found himself at the local tavern, the low murmur of conversation and the crackling of the hearth surrounding him as he sat in the shadowy corner of the bar. The plump serving wench returned to him with a drink and he dropped a coin on the counter.

He drunk deeply before replacing the drink down.

Lord Stark's execution was the topic on everyone's tongue but the conversation of two men who were sitting close by caught his attention. One of them was a pudgy man with a black beard, and the other of them was pale, spotty and had long blond hair.

"Well, 'e got what 'e deserved, lemme tell you. There ain't no one who coulda got away with that kind o' treason," the fat one said.

The other nodded in agreement.

"'S what happens to people who betray the King. His little daughter, did you see 'er? Fainted at the very sight of her Pa's head on that block."

"Pretty thing, ain't she? 'D love to have a go at 'er, but the King would probably have my head too," the fat one laughed over his drink.

For a reason unknown, a strange anger settled within Sandor and he returned his attention back to his drink. He had witnessed many deaths, often being the sole perpetrator of the murders, but he rarely saw the repercussions. Now, however, which such clarity could he hear the anguished cries of his young wife in his mind, and the ignorance of those men bothered him.

As he looked around the dim pub in order to find a distraction, he noticed a sign hanging at the back, and in chalked, spiky letters it read: "Help Required: bar-maidens and cooks."

He considered it for a moment. He had previously suggested to the girl that she should work, so she wouldn't go insane cooped up in that room. With the girl having spent most of her youth alone and secluded, interaction with people would do her good, he thought.

And it'll get her mind off her father.

Tapping on the bar to get the woman's attention, he nodded to the sign.

"Still got space?" he grunted.

The wench laughed and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Why, you not enjoying the Kingsguard, m'lord?" she japed.

He wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"Just answer the bloody question."

The woman pursed her lips and lowered her gaze, before replying that there were still vacancies available.

With a nod to the woman, Sandor stood from the bar.

His return home was uneventful and the evening was cold and quiet. As he arrived at the door, he noticed that the house was silent.  
When he opened the front door, he realised why.

Still curled on the floor, with her arms and head at the foot of the bed, the poor girl was sound asleep. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks were pink, but she was breathing peacefully. She must have exhausted herself with all of her tears. Something deep within him felt unsettled; emotions that he was not familiar with were making themselves known. With a deep exhale, he dismissed his strange feelings.

When he walked over, he pulled the curtains closed, glancing to the glowing candles on the side.

As he approached his newly-wedded wife, he could see that her cheeks were still damp by the flicker of the fire reflecting off of them, and he wondered how long ago she had fallen asleep. Leaning down beside her, Sandor carefully placed a hand under her knees, the other arm at her back and lifted her with ease. She breathed gently but did not stir, and instead, she turned her head towards his chest, nuzzling gently. He held the girl in his arms for a brief moment before stepping towards the head of the bed and laying her down gently. As he pulled the heavy fur over her, Eruanna turned onto her side and drew her knees up, the same way a child did.  
Still, she went on sleeping.

Sighing heavily, he took the blanket and pillow from the end of the bed and lay them down on the floor, making his bed for the night.

 _Just for tonight._

* * *

 **Title: Youth - Daughter**  
 **Soooooo, that was a heavy one, huh... Not going to lie, it was a very tricky chapter to write and I am still not satisfied with it BUT I couldn't leave you waiting any longer... I felt so bad that I even edited and improved the last six chapters if you want to reread them! But after such an eventful chapter for Eruanna, I am DYING to know what you think of it so please leave a comment below with a couple of words of what you felt and thought! There's nothing I love more than reading comments about her character, especially because she's an OC... and then there is Sandor, who is now in a lovely predicament! Thank you so much for waiting so long and reading this chapter! Please favourite if you enjoyed it and stay tuned for more!**


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